


Keep Your Heart Close to the Ground

by Cassy27



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A stalking creep, AU, Bucky is a creep, Clint is an awesome best friend, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Has Issues, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassy27/pseuds/Cassy27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know how you managed to talk me into doing this,” Steve mutters, “At least give me his number. If something were to happen–”<br/>“Hell no,” Thor protests, his gaze snapping upward at that, “I’m not giving you the guy’s number so you can cancel the date at the last minute.”</p><p>Everyone feels it's time for Steve to move on with his life and forget about his busted relationship with Bucky. It's easier said than done, but Steve decides to give this blind date a chance. He's ready to move on, too, though it's hard, what with Bucky refusing to give up on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. Thanks for giving this story a chance. I've written most of it, so updates will come steadily.
> 
> I want to thank GreenLoki for all the help she has given me with this story. I wouldn't have been able to write this without her.
> 
> This story was previously named 'When Your Last Straw's About To Break', but someone pointed out that it made little sense. It came from a song, that much I remembered, but honestly, I chose it months ago. But now I've renamed the story 'Keep Your Heart Close to the Ground'. I hope you guys like it.
> 
> Enjoy the story!

Thor looks like a smug bastard, but Steve doesn’t know what that means exactly. Thor often looks like a smug bastard and it’s at times like these that he wonders how and why he’s even friends with that man. Of course he’s exaggerating, but he can’t help the annoyance that fills him. So he sits there, with his lips pressed together, holding back all the questions he’s desperate to ask, with his hands firmly wrapped around the cup of coffee sitting in front of him. It’s busy in the coffee shop for a Thursday afternoon, though it’s late in the afternoon and everyone is ending their day at work, so it doesn’t surprise Steve that the place is a bit crowded.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Thor says curtly, but there is no heat behind his words, certainly not with the way he’s grinning. And he’s intentionally avoiding Steve’s gaze, keeping his dark blue eyes on his own cup of coffee. Steve wants to reach over the table and _make_ Thor look at him.

“I don’t know how you managed to talk me into doing this,” He mutters in reply, leaning back against his chair and sighing, “At least give me his number. If something were to happen–”

“Hell no,” Thor protests, his gaze snapping upward at that, and Steve feels like the man can read his thoughts. Maybe he can. He looks like he can, and Steve wants to wipe that smirk off of Thor’s face. “I’m not giving you the guy’s number so you can cancel the date at the last minute.”

Steve lets out a frustrated huff, ignoring the chuckle that earns him, and brings his cup of coffee to his lips, carefully sipping from it because that shit is hot. “So no name and no number,” He says after a short silence, eyes firmly on Thor, because come on, the guy has to let something slip at some point. He isn’t like his brother. No, Loki can hold secrets until the end of time itself. Thor, not so much, though Steve is beginning to think that he underestimates him. “Can I know anything about him?” He tries.

“It’s a blind date, Steve,” Thor says, shaking his head, laughing softly, “The whole point is that you know as little as possible. Just go the restaurant tomorrow at eight, dress nice, smile, and enjoy yourself.”

Really, Steve does _not_ know how Thor talked him into this. He doesn’t do dates. He doesn’t do boyfriends, really. But somehow, he’d underestimated Thor’s skills yet again, and he’d found himself agreeing. Thinking back about it, he decides that he only agreed to shut the man up about it. Now he’s certain that it’s one big mistake.

“You’ll like him,” Thor says before Steve can start to list off all the reasons why he’s pulling out, “I’ve met him once and he’s really nice.”

“You’re saying that because you have to say that,” Steve grumbles, head down a little, nails scratching across the paper cup that holds his coffee. It produces an irritating sound, but it’s soft and Steve is sure that he’s the only one who can hear it. And maybe Thor, because Thor reaches out and puts a hand to his wrist.

“Trust me,” Thor says. Steve’s gaze lifts, because he’s heard that tone in Thor’s voice before and he doesn’t like it. It’s too sincere and too honest, and whatever will follow, he won’t like it. “It’s time you get out there again,” No, Steve most _certainly_ doesn’t like where this is going, “One busted relationship doesn’t mean they will all–”

Steve swats Thor’s hand away and sends him a glare. It’s enough to make him shut up, and sure, he regrets it now because Thor’s a really nice guy and he’s just trying to help and he looks a little assaulted right now, but Steve just isn’t in the mood to have one of _those_ talks. He already gets those enough from Clint. “I’ll go,” He settles on. He tells himself it’s only to please Thor. And Loki. Even though he’s not really friends with Loki. Frankly, he’ll go for any reason right now, just as long as he doesn’t have to admit that he does feel kind of … intrigued.

“You won’t regret it,” Thor smiles broadly.

“I’ll regret it if he turns out to be a serial killer,” Steve says.

“He’s not,” Thor says earnestly, and it’s enough to make Steve’s eyebrows rise. “I mean,” Thor continues, noticing Steve’s skepticism and amusement, “Loki has assured me that he’s not, and my brother tends to have a sixth sense for these sorts of things.”

“Oh sure,” Steve grins, “If Loki says so …”

Thor rolls his eyes and finishes the last of his coffee, which reminds Steve that he should really start drinking his own. He’s barely touched his paper cup. So he does, sipping carefully, only to find that the drink isn’t really that hot anymore.

He can feel Thor’s gaze on him, and Steve stares at Thor over the edge of his cup. “What?” He asks before finishing the rest of his coffee.

“Nothing,” Thor shrugs, “I just think you’re really going to like this guy.”

Steve sighs and finishes his cup. “We’ll see.”

-x-x-x-

It happens right before he enters the building. It’s early in the morning, not even eight o’clock, which means that the streets are buzzing with people all trying to get to their work on time. And still it happens. It has happened so many times already that he starts to think he’s developing an extra sense for it. He can just feel those dark brown eyes on him and Steve spins around, scanning the crowd across the street and then he sees him.

It’s happened before, but it still causes the bottom of his heart to drop away. It still causes his breath to become trapped inside of his chest, and when Bucky smiles at him, Steve has to try his damn hardest not to lose his shit right then and there. He doesn’t even know how he would lose his shit. It wouldn’t be the first time that he rushes into the building and locks himself in the bathroom, desperate to get his breathing under control. It wouldn’t be the first time either that he just turns around and heads back home, calling in sick for the day.

But right now, right this instant, he doesn’t know what to do. He stands there, frozen in the stream of people passing by. Bucky’s smile grows and Steve knows he needs to turn away now. And he does. By some miracle he does. He enters the building where he works and heads for the elevators, telling himself over and over again to breathe in, then slowly breathe out. By the time he reaches his floor, high up in the building, he knows he has himself under control. Seeing Bucky messes with his head, makes him feel confused and dizzy and lonely and scared, but he knows he can’t show any of that, because, _ah_ , there he is.

Clint comes to meet him, smiling and with a large cup of coffee in his hand that Steve knows isn’t decaf and that he knows isn’t his first cup either. “I was starting to wonder where you were at,” Clint says, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and walking with him to his office, “You’re five minutes later than unusual. Very unlike you, Rogers.”

“Give me a break,” Steve replies, rolling his eyes. Clint has that … unearthly talent to make him feel calm and in control again. Whether he does that on purpose or not, Steve doesn’t know, but he’s grateful anyway, because it allows him the chance to forget about seeing Bucky.

“I’ll give you a break,” Clint says, winking when Steve meets his gaze for a moment, “I bet you’re excited about tonight.”

Steve groans, because he knows what that means. Thor should never have told Clint about the date. He pries Clint’s arm from around his shoulders and takes a step back. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say about this,” He warns, lifting one finger, but Clint knows him well enough to know that he never really threatens, or that when he does, he doesn’t really mean it. “I just want to get through this day and get through tonight.”

“Natasha told me to tell you that you should wear that suit you wore to our engagement party,” Clint merely continues, like Steve hasn’t spoken a word at all, “You did look good in that suit, and the restaurant you’re going to is rather fancy so you’ll blend right in.”

“You told Natasha?” Steve groans when Clint nods, his smile transforming into a grin, and he rubs a hand over his tired face. He didn’t sleep very well last night, but he’ll never admit that it’s because he’s excited and nervous about tonight. He just wants to see the guy Thor and Loki think might be a good match for him. And it’s just a date. He’s not even obligated to call the guy afterwards if he feels it’ll never work out. “I’ll wear that suit,” He says, just to please Clint and make him shut up about it, “Now don’t you have a ton of work to do?”

“I do,” Clint says, nodding as he walks back, eyes still fixed on Steve’s face, and really, Steve expects him to trip one day and spill that coffee all over himself, but Clint is always surprisingly swift on his feet, “But you know I can never start my day properly without greeting my favorite accountant.” Steve rolls his eyes for the second time in under a minute. “Lunch at twelve, Rogers,” Clint calls to him and then he disappears into his office.

Steve remains standing in the middle of the hallway for a moment, shaking his head and staring at the now closed door of Clint’s office. His thoughts involuntarily drift back toward the street, toward those two dark brown eyes, and Steve knows he needs to shake off that moment.

He heads into his own office and closes the door behind him, sighing as he shrugs off his leather jacket. Now is not the time to think about Bucky Barnes.

-x-x-x-

It’s Friday evening in New York City, but the neighborhood Steve finds himself in is actually pretty quiet. It’s enjoyable, but it doesn’t help Steve manage his nerves in any way. If he’d had the guy’s number now, he’d call him and cancel. There’s even a small voice in the back of his head telling him to just turn around and go back home. He doesn’t know the guy so he won’t feel guilty for standing him up. Only … who is he kidding? If he stands the guy up, Steve knows he’ll lay awake for weeks, hating himself. Only douches stand people up.

So he keeps walking while telling himself that it’s just a date and that he’s doing Thor a favor. Just one evening with another guy, just … talking and knowing that it doesn’t have to lead to anything. None of those thoughts help him calm down either. That’s when he decides to trust Thor and, in a way, Loki. They wouldn’t set him up with an asshole.

Letting out a sharp breath, Steve comes to a halt before the restaurant where he’s supposed to meet the stranger, but he spots himself, his image reflecting in the window, and he winces. He’s wearing the suit Clint told him to wear and he regrets it. He feels too restricted. And sure, the restaurant looks fancy, but maybe the suit is a bit much anyway. Steve doesn’t feel … like himself. He hates wearing suits.

Muttering under his breath, he reaches up and removes the dark blue tie, shoving it into the pocket of his trousers, and when he unbuttons the top of his shirt, he feels a little better. He can at least breathe easier, and yes, he decides the outfit is more casual now and he likes that. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, thinking he really should get a haircut next week, only to catch himself acting ridiculous.

This is a bad, bad idea.

The moment he steps into the restaurant, he knows there’s no turning back. Or he tells himself that there is no turning back. Honestly, he feels like a nervous wreck and he doesn’t even know why. He just knows that he’s going to cuss Thor out for this and that he’s never going to indulge the man ever again or give into requests. Seriously, what was he thinking?

A young waitress walks up to him, dressed in a sharp suit, her high heels loud against the hardwood floor, but she’s smiling warmly and she looks friendly. “Can I help you?”

“Uhm, yes,” Steve replies, needing a moment to find the words, “A table for two? Reserved under the name Odinson?” Because Thor was smart enough to use his own name. Or maybe that was Loki’s idea. In any case, Steve decides he’ll cuss out the both of them. This was their joined idea after all. Thor has a friend … Loki has a friend … Let’s set up those friends … Steve will make them pay for this.

The young lady nods and leads him to a table by the window at the back of the restaurant. Steve easily slides into the chair, relieved that he’s the first one to arrive – for what reason that’s a relief, he doesn’t know and he’s not interested in finding out either. He just watches as the lady lights two candles on the table and turns to him.

“Would you like something to drink already?”

“A glass of water, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Steve leans back into the chair when the waitress walks away and lets his gaze wander around the restaurant. He hasn’t been here before, but it’s cozy. Almost all the tables are occupied, too, and Steve casts a glance at the plates. The food looks delicious and helps him remember that he hasn’t eaten since lunch with Clint. The waitress returns with his glass of water, and when she leaves again, Steve can only wait. It’s a little after eight, but his chest already feels unnaturally tight with every passing second. There is this option he hasn’t considered after all.

What if _he_ is the one who gets stood up? Steve ponders the question, only to come to the conclusion that it will feel strange when that should happen. Relief and disappointment isn’t exactly a compatible mix after all. And why will he feel disappointment? He’s not sure exactly. A part of him is just really curious.

His gaze snaps up when he hears those sharp heels of the waitress tap against the floor, the sound coming toward him. She is guiding a man to the back of the restaurant, motioning a hand to his table, and Steve knows that his blind date has arrived. He stands a bit too quickly, the legs of his chair scraping loudly over the hardwood floor. The man smiles at him, but his attention shifts back to the waitress as she takes his jacket, tells them she’ll come to take their order in a few minutes, and leaves again.

Steve uses that moment to take in the man who now stands on the other side of the table. He’s shorter than he is, but there is no denying the muscles underneath the black button-up shirt he’s wearing. His dark hair is slicked back with just the right amount of hair product and his beard is impeccably well kept. But that’s not what catches Steve’s attention. No, what catches his attention is when the man removes his sunglasses – really, sunglasses at eight in the evening? – and he spots unnaturally dark eyes. He knows he has a weakness for dark eyes and Steve can’t help but swallow heavily.

The man smiles, but Steve sees that it doesn’t quite reach his gaze. It’s a polite smile, and that’s when Steve realizes that he’s staring, that the waitress is long gone, and that he should really stop behaving like an idiot.

“Hi,” He says, extending a hand for the man to shake, “Steve Rogers.”

The man inclines his head. “Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers,” He says before shaking the hand he’s been offered. They sit down, and just so he can have something to do with his hands, Steve picks up his glass of water and takes a sip. “Loki wasn’t kidding,” The man says, and Steve can feel those dark eyes rake over him, “You’re as handsome as he promised me you were.”

Oh great, he’s already blushing. But Steve has enough self-control to not look down, no matter how much he wants to hide his face right now. “That’s a lovely compliment,” He says, surprised to hear his own voice steady and confident, “Thank you.” He sets down his glass of water before looking back up, finding the man’s polite smile is still firmly in place. “I just wish I knew your name.”

The smile disappears and Steve fears he’s said something really stupid, because the man looks … Actually, Steve doesn’t know what kind of look he has on his face. Disbelief? Confusion? The only thing he knows for certain is that the way the man bites down on his lower lip shouldn’t have such an impact on him.

“Right,” The man starts before Steve has the chance to say anything, “How incredibly rude of me. You introduce yourself and I don’t even give you my name.” He straightens in his seat and extends his hand again. Steve stares at it for a second. “Let me start again. Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers. I’m Tony Stark.”

Steve shakes the man’s hand again – _Tony’s_ hand. He chuckles softly when he finds that Tony’s smile is back in place. “Likewise,” He says as he pulls back. He can tell Tony is searching his face for something – what, he doesn’t know – but he supposes he can’t blame the guy. Steve is searching Tony’s face, too, after all. He’s searching for that signal that tells him Tony hates his time here or that he’s in fact really disappointed with the man sitting before him. “I don’t know about you, but Thor refused to tell me anything about you.”

“Loki dropped a few hints here and there,” Tony replies, “Told me you were handsome. He gave me just enough of a description so I’d recognize you here.”

Before he can reply to that, before he can even think too much about ‘ _Loki told me you were handsome’_ , the waitress returns with two menus.

Tony looks up at her with a broad smile. “Can we have a bottle of wine?”

The waitress nods as she hands them the menus. “Of course, sir. The house wine?”

“Is that good wine?”

The waitress laughs softly. “It is, sir.”

“Then bring it.”

Steve watches the exchange over the edge of the menu he’d been handed. Tony looks relaxed, easygoing. He smiles effortlessly, and when he sends the waitress another one of his radiant smiles, the waitress blushes – much like he did just a moment ago – and Steve wonders why Thor thought that this man would be a good fit for him. Of course, he doesn’t know Tony and he’s never one to judge a person on first impressions only, but he can tell that Tony is a player. Maybe that’s a judgment, too, but why else would he wink at that waitress?

Only … when Tony returns his attention to him, Steve feels like he has _all_ of his attention.

“So, blind dates,” Tony says when the waitress leaves, “Something you do often?”

“No,” Steve says, chuckling softly, “To be honest, I tried prying your phone number from Thor so that I could cancel.”

“Glad Thor didn’t give you my number then,” Tony replies. He shifts in his seat, the menu before him ignored. “Now that you’re here, do you still wish you could have canceled?”

“Uhm, maybe,” He says, because it’s the truth, “Honestly, I’m not someone who dates a lot.”

“I can tell,” Tony says, which earns him a raised eyebrow from Steve, but he swiftly continues, and it makes Steve very much aware that Tony _is_ the kind of man who dates a lot. “Such honesty on a first date … Most are trying to paint themselves perfect. You don’t. It’s cute. You’re cute.”

Steve can’t help but avert his gaze again, knowing that his cheeks are flushing pink yet again. He tries to remember if he’s always been a blusher. Maybe he’d know if he dated more. Right now, though, he’s just interested in getting a grip on himself, in not letting Tony notice just how much effect his words have on him, because no, Steve hasn’t gotten a lot of compliments in his life.

Not wanting to look at Tony just yet, hoping that the pinkness of his cheeks will diminish in a few seconds, he lets his gaze sweep around the room, only to land on the front door of the restaurant which is made entirely out of glass and allows him a perfect view of the street.

“Oh my,” He says as he keeps staring at the door, leaning sideways a little so he can have a better view, “There are half a dozen paparazzi outside.” He takes in their cameras and tele-lenses and he can’t help but let his gaze sweep around the room. It only settles back on Tony when he hears the man groan softly. “There’s a celebrity amongst us,” Steve says without thinking.

Only then does he notice Tony’s new position. The man isn’t sitting up straight anymore. No, his back is arched and his shoulders are hanging forward a little. His head is bowed down, eyes firmly on the table, and his fingers are toying with the edge of the menu he has ignored up until this moment. And that’s when the penny drops.

“Stark,” Steve says softly, as if testing the name again, letting it echo through his mind a few times. He hears Tony groan again. “ _You’re_ the celebrity those paparazzi are hoping to get a shot of.” His mind is racing now, but no matter how hard he thinks, he can’t find the answer to the question he’s asked himself. “I’m sorry, Tony, I … I think I read your name in the newspaper this morning, but I can’t …” Yes, he’s doing great right now. Everyone loves a fumbling idiot.

Tony’s head moves up, his eyes slightly narrowed. “You still don’t know who I am.”

And this is it. This is the end of their date. Steve hadn’t expected it, but the disappointment has won, because he doesn’t want the evening to end just yet, not even after having blushed twice in the span of ten minutes, not even after feeling like a complete idiot. “I don’t,” He admits, “Though I feel like I should.”

“No, oh god no!” Tony instantly sits up straighter, a smile returning to his features, softening them, and Steve can’t help but think that this is more than a polite smile. It suits Tony. It takes away the sharper, more intimidating edges that surround him. “This is great,” Tony says brightly, “Because I don’t consider myself to be a celebrity.”

“Can I still know why those paparazzi are outside?” Steve asks.

“They are hoping to get a shot of me going out on a date, because people love to read all about my life,” Tony explains with a hint of exasperation to his voice, “Pepper, my PA, says it’s because it humanizes me. Apparently, if I’m not in the tabloids enough, people will think I’m a robot.”

“You don’t look like the kind of man who cares about what people think, though,” Steve says carefully, because he’s making a bold assumption here and he doesn’t know Tony and he doesn’t know how he’ll react to said assumption.

“No, I don’t really care what people think of me,” Tony replies, that smile of his staying firmly in place, “But it’s good for the human resources department.”

“Right, the human resources department of … your company?” He still hasn’t a clue who Tony is.

“Right, of my company,” Tony grins. He lets out a short, loud, but warm laugh, his hand running through his hair and those two dark eyes of his easily settling on Steve’s bright blue ones. “Stark Industries–”

“Of course!” Steve throws his head back and laughs as well, wanting to hit himself on the head, because how could he _not_ recognize the name? He read a short article about Stark Industries this morning in the paper and he still didn’t make the connection. Then again, he did read the paper at his office after Bucky ruined his morning by showing up and– He stops himself, refusing to think about him. “Stark Industries,” He says when he’s stopped laughing, “You make weapons.”

“I do,” Tony says, nodding, “I design them, I make them, and I sell them. Big business.”

“I can tell,” Steve replies, waving a hand toward the paparazzi outside, “And it explains how Loki managed to stick you on a date with me.”

“No regrets on my end, though,” Tony says.

Steve thinks about those words for a second, and he realizes that he isn’t regretting this either. Not yet anyway. He’s been a nervous wreck about this date, but now he feels more at ease and he thinks this is actually something he can do. “Let’s order dinner,” He says when he notices Tony staring at him, obviously aware of the train of thoughts continuously streaming through his head, “I’m starving.”

“Me, too.”

-x-x-x-

Steve is laughing so hard he thinks that Tony will soon throw him weird and confused looks, but he just can’t help it. He starts to blame that bottle of wine they shared at the restaurant and he’s pretty sure that Tony kept his glass full with a purpose. And yes, maybe he’s a bit drunk, but not drunk enough to forget where he is and who he is with and what he is doing. He’s certainly not drunk enough to behave like an idiot. But the evening has been fun so far and Steve doesn’t want it to end yet, certainly not after sneaking out of the back of the restaurant to avoid those paparazzi. That was exciting.

“I’m not kidding,” Tony continues, his laughter matching Steve’s, which makes him feel a little less embarrassed, “It’s all on video. It was a test-run and I directed too much power into the thrusters and _bam_ , I hit the ceiling. It’s a miracle I didn’t get hurt.”

“I want to see that video one day,” Steve says when he’s stopped laughing long enough to get some proper words out. They’re walking down the street, carrying the leftovers from their meal, and everything is quiet. It’s getting late after all, and Steve realizes that they’re in a really nice area of New York City. There are no sirens around, no cars honking, no taxi-drivers shouting. Maybe he shouldn’t be laughing so much.

“It’s a surprise no one has leaked that video on YouTube yet,” Tony replies. He’s walking close enough to Steve that Steve can feel his shoulder brush against his occasionally. “Then again, I do make all my employees sign non-disclosure contracts.”

Steve glances up and finds that they’ve come to a halt in front of a massive building that seems to be made almost entirely out of glass. Most floors are dark, but lights are still on in some of the offices. But that’s not what catches his attention. The name Stark at the top of the building, burning brightly in blue lights, is. “Oh, is that why you walked me here,” He asks playfully, eyes settling back on Tony, “So I can sign one of those contracts, too?”

He doesn’t remember the exact point in time he’d started feeling comfortable around Tony and he definitely doesn’t remember the moment he’d started reciprocating some of his flirts. Steve doesn’t flirt. He can hardly look people in the eyes long enough to be able to speak of eye- _contact_ , but with Tony, he feels … at ease. Or maybe it’s the wine talking. In any case, he’s still going to cuss Thor out for this.

“God no,” Tony replies. He points to the top of the building. “My penthouse is at the top and I’m going to be a douche and ask if you want to come up and share a nightcap with me.”

“Why would that make you a douche?” Steve questions. He followed Tony’s line of sight and finds that the lights at the top of building are indeed all on. A part of Steve knows he should decline, that the evening has been fun up until now and that he should end it now by simply refusing Tony’s offer, but another part wants to see the view the penthouse has to offer. He really wants to see it.

“Just a drink,” Tony assures him.

“Just a drink,” Steve repeats. He can do that. He follows Tony inside the building and lets his eyes wander around. It all looks a bit too bright for him. The walls are white. The floor is white. Even most of the furniture is white. The only color to liven up the place comes from flowers that have been strategically put around the lobby.

They head over to the elevator and once again, Steve lets his eyes wander. It’s just an elevator, but the walls consist out of nothing but mirrors. Even the ceiling of the small cube is a mirror. It makes Steve painfully self-aware and he avoids looking at himself. Of course, that either means he can stare at the floor – which, thank God, is _not_ a mirror – or at Tony, and he settles on the latter.

Tony isn’t aware that he’s being stared at. His dark eyes follow the light beside the door that indicates which floor they are on. They still have a way to go, so Steve takes his time to look at him, to really look at him, without having to fear being busted. There is no denying it. Tony is a handsome man. His facial features are sharp, but Steve now knows that they soften whenever he smiles. His hair and goatee are impeccably kept. He isn’t wearing his vest anymore – he must have shrugged it off when Steve was too busy taking in the lobby – and Steve lets his eyes trail down Tony’s neck, toward his broad shoulders. Tony is smaller than him, but he’s muscled and he looks … firm, and the black button-up shirt he’s wearing fits him perfectly. Steve dares to assume it’s tailor-made.

Tony is standing with his knees apart. A power-stance, but that’s not what makes Steve swallow heavily. No, Tony has gorgeous legs. Long, but obviously strong, and for one split second, Steve can’t help but imagine what it would be like to let his hands run down those thighs. The moment that thought settles, his gaze snaps away. He stares at himself in the mirror ahead, but he hates what he sees, so he quickly settles on staring at his own feet. He suddenly feels lost and he wonders what the hell he’s doing, but then there is a soft ping and the doors of the elevator slip open.

The penthouse is nothing like the rest of the building, not that he’s seen much of the rest of the building. There is nothing but warm colors. The walls are a deep brown color and the floor has black tiles. There is a bar to the right side of the penthouse and a sort of lowered island to the left where there are couches, a low coffee table, and a fireplace that’s alight, casting everything around them in a soft orange hue. Right ahead of him, the wall consists out of nothing but glass, spanning the entire width of the penthouse. Steve steps out of the elevator and moves to the window and yes, the view is amazing.

“Quite something, huh,” Tony says as he comes to stand next to Steve.

Steve can’t tear his eyes away just yet. “It’s beautiful,” He agrees.

Tony’s hand rests to his shoulder for a moment, giving it a faint squeeze, and it’s enough to make Steve tense, but Tony’s hand falls away a second later, the contact not having lasted long enough for Tony to have felt his reaction. “Enjoy the view,” Tony smiles, “I’ll fix us up with something in the meantime.”

Steve keeps his eyes on the horizon while he wills away any doubts that are forcing their way into his head. He can’t hold them all off and he’s starting to wonder again what the hell he’s doing. Sure, he can have dinner with a man and he can enjoy himself, but why is he in the man’s penthouse again? Steve isn’t an idiot. There are only a handful of reasons why someone invites another man in for a nightcap and Steve knows he can’t do any of those reasons.

“Sit at the fireplace with me,” Tony says as he pads across the area. Steve sees Tony has removed his shoes and that he’s walking barefoot now. It shouldn’t surprise him this place has floor-heating. He probably couldn’t afford to spend one evening here if the place was up for rent.

Turning away from the city, Steve goes to the lowered island and accepts the drink Tony has made for him – its scotch or whiskey, but Steve can never tell the difference – and thinks of ways to end the evening. He should never have agreed to come up here, no matter how much he’d been interested in seeing the view. But before he can part his lips to speak, Tony starts.

“I had a great evening. The best one I’ve had in a long time. It was refreshing, really, to be out with a guy who didn’t know my name and who didn’t either freak out by the cameras or loved them and posed for them.”

Steve can only smile faintly at that. He sips from his drink and focuses on the burn it produces to the back of his throat. He doesn’t know much about scotch or whiskey, whatever it is that’s in his glass, but he can tell its expensive stuff because it tastes really, really good. “I enjoyed myself, too,” He says after a short silence, “It’s been ages since I went on a date, really.” He tries not to think that the only guy he ever dated is Bucky.

“I’ll send Thor and Loki a basket in the morning,” Tony replies, grinning. He shifts on the couch a little, so that his body is angled towards Steve. And Steve can’t help but look at Tony, look into his eyes and, shit, this might be considered eye-contact and he’s not sure how he feels about it, but it doesn’t feel as awkward as he thought it would.

And then Tony is leaning forward and he’s kissing him, and Steve’s mind freezes. He gasps at the feeling of Tony’s lips suddenly on his and he holds his breath when he feels Tony’s tongue slip across his lower lip, hot and wet, and it’s a sensation that drives him mad and makes him want more, but he … can’t. Steve’s eyes fall shut and he pulls away, turning his head sideways.

“No, stop,” He breathes, holding out a hand as if he would need to keep Tony back, physically. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, afraid of the rejection he might find in those dark brown eyes, or perhaps there would be anger or frustration. This is just a kiss, but then … Maybe Tony wants more, maybe he’s used to getting more, but Steve can’t give him more, not now, not yet.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” Comes Tony’s voice, the words sounding rushed and slightly panicked. Steve feels a pair of hands fold around the hand he’s holding out, but it’s not being pushed down or shoved away. No, Tony is just holding it, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of it. “I’m sorry, Steve, I came on strong.”

Slowly, carefully, Steve looks back at Tony and he can see that he really is sorry. He’d been right about hearing panic in his words and now he sees regret in that dark gaze, too. “I had a really fun night, Tony, but I …” He what?

“No, I get it,” Tony says, and he’s smiling and Steve can feel himself relaxing again. He lowers his hand, but Tony doesn’t let go yet. Somehow he doesn’t mind. Tony’s hands are warm and the tips of his fingers are soft. “Would now be too soon to ask you out on a second date?”

Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head a little. “Isn’t there a three-day-rule or something?” Not that he’s well versed in the rules of dating.

“There is,” Tony says. He lets go of Steve’s hand and picks up his glass again. “But I’m not really the kind of man that plays by the rules. Besides, if I don’t ask you now, it might be too late.”

“How’s that?” Steve asks. He’s relaxed again, which is a mean feat and he supposes it has everything to do with how Tony is chatting again, like he wasn’t just shut down, and Steve really appreciates that.

“It’s a cocktail-party,” Tony explains as he leans back into the couch, an arm resting over the edge, one ankle crossed over his knee, “Wednesday evening at Hammer Industries. I’d like to take you as my date. If you’d be so kind.”

Steve casts down his eyes, staring at his own drink which he’s barely touched. And he isn’t going to touch it anymore. Truly, he’s had enough alcohol for one evening. “Okay,” He says, because why not? This evening turned out pretty great and, sure, there have been some hiccups, but Tony hasn’t thrown him out and he feels good around him. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll come and pick you up,” Tony says excitedly, “At eight.”

“Okay.”

-x-x-x-

His phone ringing wakes him. Steve groans and turns away from the awful sound, but it keeps ringing and, with a curse, he throws his arm onto his nightstand and fishes for his phone. He feels keys, his alarm-clock, a bottle of water, his iPod, and ah, his phone. Without looking at the number, he picks up and sticks it to his ear.

“What,” He grumbles.

“And good morning to you, too!” Thor sounds far too happy and too pleased and too smug. Again. As always. Steve doesn’t want to overthink that when he’s still half asleep and he’s lying very comfortably in his bed. “I take it you’ve had a good time because I can hear that you’re still in bed.”

“How can you hear that?” Steve asks, moving to lie on his back. His morning was ruined, he could feel it, and he adds it to his list of reasons why he needs to cuss Thor out. It’s right below ‘you stuck me on a blind date that I enjoyed, but I still curse you for it’.

“Because you sound like you just woke up and like you want to kick my ass for waking you.”

Steve sighs and slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times, the light streaming through his window very bright. Next time, he should really close his curtains. “Very smart of you, Sherlock.”

“So, do I have to come over to your place and drag the answers out of your mouth?” Thor asks, and there’s this tone to his voice that tells Steve he isn’t kidding. He groans at the thought of Thor showing up at his apartment at … He looks aside and groans again because it’s already eleven o’clock and he slept away most of his morning.

“It was fun, okay?” He says, and damn, just thinking about last night makes him smile. He didn’t expect that. “He asked me out again, but I’m sure you already knew that. In fact, I wonder why you’re calling at all.”

“Stark did already tell Loki all about the date,” Thor admits, “And he said it was great and I couldn’t hear his voice or see his face since he was on the phone with my brother, but Loki just looked … really fucking pleased about himself. He even threw up his thumb and you know Loki is very sparse with those kinds of things.”

No, Steve doesn’t know. He’s met Loki maybe two or three times. But yes, he can imagine it and he can imagine the guy sounding smug, too. “Sounding pleased about yourself is a family thing, isn’t it?” Steve laughs.

“It is,” Thor agrees, and Steve can hear a grin in Thor’s words, “I knew you guys would hit it off. What I didn’t expect was the fact you didn’t know him. Stark said you didn’t recognize his face or his name, not at first.” Steve sighs, because yes, that had been a screw-up. “No, don’t sigh like that,” Thor reprimands him, “It was a good thing. Stark liked that.”

“Okay,” Steve says. He pushes himself into a sitting position and runs a hand through his hair to slick it back. There’s a faint throb to the back of his head and Steve knows that next time, he’s not going to drink so much wine. He smiles when he realizes he’s looking forward to next time. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Thor, I want to get into the shower and get something to eat and start my day in peace and silence.”

“Alright, okay,” Thor replies, “I’ll sit here and wait for my thank-you-card.”

“Of course,” Steve chuckles. He wants to end the call, but Thor says his name again. “Yes?”

“I’m really glad you and Tony had a good time last night,” He says, and huh, Steve can’t think of an occasion where he’s heard Thor sound so formal and sincere. And for once, it doesn’t make Steve want to shut him up.

“Me, too,” He simply replies, and then he ends the call.


	2. The Cocktail Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was previously named 'When Your Last Straw's About To Break', but someone pointed out that it made little sense. It came from a song, that much I remembered, but honestly, I chose it months ago. But now I've renamed the story 'Keep Your Heart Close to the Ground'. I hope you guys like it.

Steve almost jumps out of his skin when he steps out of his apartment-building and finds Bucky waiting for him. He looks so casual leaning against the brick-wall of the building, ankles crossed, one hand shoved into the pocket of his black skinny jeans. Steve halts the moment he spots him and thinks that he should just turn around and head back inside since Bucky can’t follow him in there, at least not all the way up to his apartment, but his legs aren’t listening to his brain.

Bucky grins when he sees Steve. He pushes himself away from the wall and holds out a white paper bag that Steve knows holds at least two doughnuts. “I brought breakfast,” Bucky says in a pleasant tone, his dark brown eyes alight with happiness, “Your favorite; cream-filled bagels.”

So no doughnuts, he was wrong about that part, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want breakfast from him. What he wants is for Bucky to leave him the hell alone. Steve inhales sharply, waits for his mind to start working again, and then slowly exhales. “What are you doing here?” He asks after having counted to ten. He’s relieved that his voice sounds steady and strong and, most of all, annoyed despite the wild thrumming of his heart inside his chest.

Bucky wiggles the bag, drawing Steve’s attention to it. “Breakfast,” He repeats.

Steve shakes his head and sighs in exasperation and what could be desperation. He isn’t sure. His feelings toward Bucky have always been mixed and very hard to understand. “I have to get to work,” He says as he pushes past the man, groaning when Bucky quickly turns and walks with him, “Bucky, when will you get that you and I are over, that whatever it is that you’re trying to do is pointless?” He sounds cruel, the words sharp, and there is still a painful sting to his chest when he spots the obvious hurt in Bucky’s eyes – those big, dark puppy eyes that he never could resist, but he’s adamant about resisting them now.

“Come on, _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, and the way he drawls his name makes a lump form in Steve’s throat. Bucky has always had this way about him that draws Steve to him. He holds himself upright, nothing but confidence radiating from his body, and to Steve, that makes him almost irresistible. It makes him want to look at Bucky and hold him and wait for the moment where he’d say his name like that again.

Steve quickly sheds all those thoughts, and it’s easier to focus on the here and now after Bucky’s hand grabs his upper arm and forces him to a halt. Steve stares at the place where they’re touching, his entire body tensing suddenly and an alarm going off in his head, but he can’t bring himself to rip his arm free from Bucky’s grip.

“I made a mistake,” Bucky says, gazing into Steve’s bright blue eyes and sure, there is genuine regret in his dark brown eyes, but Steve is smart enough to know now that he shouldn’t fall for that. Not again. “Doesn’t a guy deserve a second chance?”

Finally, _finally_ , Steve pulls his arm free. Annoyance flits across Bucky’s face, mixed with a hint of anger, and ah, that’s the Bucky he’s come to know. That’s the Bucky he’s come to fear, which sounds ridiculous since he’s actually taller and broader than Bucky, but it’s true nonetheless. He doesn’t know why Bucky has that effect on him. He just knows he wants to make himself as small as possible and maybe curl up in a ball and make the world forget about him.

“We’re over,” He repeats, and this time he sounds fragile and he hates himself for it, because of course Bucky hears the waver to his voice and of course he’ll latch onto that. He decides to not give him that chance so Steve swiftly turns away and starts walking again, toward the crowd even though he knows he won’t lose Bucky on busy streets either. No, the guy is far too stubborn for that. “Go home, go to work, I don’t care, but leave me alone.”

Bucky walks close enough beside him so their shoulders brush together, and Steve sighs, but he keeps walking.

“I know you still love me,” Bucky says with nothing but conviction in his voice. Steve keeps his gaze directly ahead, refusing to look at him, because yes, it’s true. He loves him. After everything that has happened, he still loves him. But he loves him just as much as he hates him, and he loves him just as much as he fears him. “Come on, Steve,” Bucky continues as he hastily puts himself in front of Steve, forcing the man to come to a halt again. “Let me take care of you again,” He says with a sly smile, his eyes brilliant with a deeper meaning that Steve refuses to think about.

He will _never_ let Bucky take care of him again. “I’m seeing someone else,” He blurts out. He doesn’t say it to hurt Bucky and he doesn’t say it to push him away. He just says it in the hopes that Bucky will finally understand that he’s moving on. It’s taken him forever, sure, but he _is_ moving on, and it’s time that he does the same. Still, there is no denying the flash of anger and betrayal that shifts behind Bucky’s dark eyes at his words.

“Who?” Bucky demands to know, his gaze narrowing, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Steve watches him for a moment as he tries to think of something to say. The situation is getting dangerous, he can feel it, but he doesn’t know how to dismantle it. He has never quite figured that part out. “ _Who?_ ” Bucky asks again when Steve stays silent, “Not some prick from your work, right? Or that Barton guy?”

Steve barely refrains himself from rolling his eyes. “You know well enough that Clint is engaged to Natasha,” He replies. He doesn’t even know why he honors that question with an answer. Besides, he doesn’t owe Bucky an explanation. That’s what he decides to focus on. He owes Bucky nothing. “It doesn’t matter. I’m dating another guy, I’m moving on, and it’s time that you do the same.”

When Bucky grabs his wrists, Steve freezes, his blue eyes going wide and his breath suddenly trapped within his chest. “Come back to me,” Bucky says with a desperate tone to his voice. Steve swallows hard and tells himself that he needs to get away now, but he can’t look away from Bucky’s eyes, not even when he feels his nails sink into the skin of his wrists to the point where it hurts. “I apologized a hundred times and you know I’m sorry about what happened. I love you, Steve, but apparently that’s not–”

“Let me go,” Steve interrupts, pulling at his wrists. Finally he manages to look away from Bucky’s gaze, only to wince because Bucky responds by holding onto him that much tighter. Yet somehow, by some miracle, he doesn’t give up. “I said, let me go!” And when he pulls at his wrists a second time, he manages to break free from Bucky’s hold, possibly because the few people around him are starting to throw them weird or concerned looks, and Bucky would never deliberately cause a public scene. “Leave me alone, Bucky, I mean it. I’m tired of your games.” And he’s tired of being afraid all the goddamn time, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

No, he just turns and stalks away and, somehow, he was able to stun Bucky long enough so that the guy doesn’t follow him. He wants to look over his shoulder and see the look in his eyes, but he forbids himself from doing so, because that has always been his undoing. Bucky always had that nasty talent to look like a kicked puppy and Steve had always been so stupid to fall for the act. So he keeps looking ahead and he keeps walking, ignoring the racing of his heart and ignoring the way his hands are shaking.

-x-x-x-

By the time he’s riding the elevator up to the floor where his office is, Steve feels calm again. He’s leaning back against the wall of the small cubicle, his fingers drumming against the paper cup of his coffee, but other than that, he thinks he’s radiating nothing but calmness. He tries not to think about his run-in with Bucky and instead focuses on what lies ahead, and what lies ahead is a stack of papers that he needs to sort through. Mondays are always incredibly busy.

The elevator comes to a halt and Steve steps out. It’s one of those rare occasions where he isn’t greeted by Clint, but he thinks nothing special of it. He walks down the short hallway, crosses the bullpen and heads for his small office. He’s greeted by a few other employees and he offers each and every one a polite and kind smile in return. Still, he only feels like he can breathe properly when he’s between the four walls of his office. It means he can finally start his day and forget about the morning.

He shrugs off his jacket, hangs it over the back of his chair and switches on his computer. The mail hasn’t been delivered yet, so Steve opens his e-mails instead, deciding to sort through those first, only for a short knock to echo through his office, distracting him from his computer-screen. He doesn’t actually need to look up to know who enters, though. Only one guy enters his office withoutpermission.

“Good morning,” He says as he turns his gaze to the man who just walked in. It’s a surprise to see Clint looking a bit rumpled and tired, and Steve can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Clint waves his concerns away. “Natasha left for another business-trip,” He explains without Steve actually having asked. Clint’s face lights up as a smirk curves the edges of his lips upward. “It’s been a long night, if you know what I mean.”

Steve snorts and shakes his head a little. “I don’t need details,” He says, smiling, as Clint drops down onto the chair on the other side of his desk, “Just make sure Hill doesn’t catch you napping at your desk again. Last time you almost got fired.”

“They can’t fire me,” Clint replies confidently, “I’m one of their best accountants.”

“Second best,” Steve grins. It never ceases to surprise him how easily he and Clint can slip into these kinds of conversations, but he supposes that that’s why Clint has that calming effect on him. “Everyone knows I beat your numbers every single time.”

“That’s because I still haven’t discovered your manner of cheating.”

“That’s because thereis no manner of cheating,” Steve laughs. There is another knock on his door and this time, whoever is on the other side actually waits for a call to enter. It’s the mail-boy, an intern, and Steve accepts his mail with another one of his signature smiles. The mail-boy leaves and Steve sifts through the letters and packages, groaning softly when he sees he has a lot of work to do.

He instinctually jerks his hand away when Clint’s hand suddenly moves on top of his wrist and sends him a dark look, because what the hell? And then he sees the look in Clint’s vibrant-colored eyes. He sees his concern and confusion and anger, and Steve glances down, spotting his own wrists and spotting the faint bruises that are bound to get darker as the day progresses.

“When, Steve?” Clint demands to know.

Exhaling slowly, telling himself to stay calm, Steve leans back in his office-chair and closes his eyes for a moment. He just wants to forget that this morning ever happened. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, it is, because when he opens his eyes again, he finds that Clint is still staring at him and that he’s actually expecting an answer to his question. “This morning,” He explains, “He was waiting for me outside of my building.”

“And he hurt you.”

He runs a hand through his hair, finding that a slight tremor has returned to his limbs. He’s failing at the whole staying-calm-plan. Clint usually helps him with that, but right now, he’s the reason his blood pressure is rising. With some luck, Clint doesn’t notice, but who is he kidding? This is _Clint_.

“I told him I’m dating another guy,” He says, “I told him that I’m moving on and that he should do the same and he got angry.”

“Can I kill him now?”

Steve chuckles tiredly, eyes cast down.

“I mean it,” Clint says. He leans forward and demands Steve’s attention, and yes, Steve can see how serious he is. Clint’s gaze stands wide and his lips are pressed together tightly, making the line of his jaw that much sharper.

“Don’t you dare, Clint,” Steve replies, sending the man a pointed look, “I’m not interested in having Natasha kill you before I’ve had the chance to be your best man at the wedding.”

“Steve …”

Ah, there is that tone he’s come to loathe and dread. Thor sometimes offers it and he never likes what follows, but when Clint sounds like that, and when he has that determined yet concerned look in his eyes, Steve knows that in a few seconds, he’ll wish he had never gotten out of bed this morning.

“I’m not interested in a lecture, Clint,” He tries.

“You’re never interested in my lectures,” Clint says, annoyed, “And you never listen to my advice, and now look what’s happened,” He shakes his head incredulously, “I swear to God, Steve, I’m just going to drag your ass to the cops one day.”

“I’m moving on,” Steve argues, or he tries to, but the look on Clint’s face says that he’s not at all convinced, “I’m not taking his shit anymore. I _want_ to move on, Clint.”

There is a tense moment and Steve holds his breath, but Clint nods after a while. It’s enough to have him relax a little. Talking about Bucky always gets him on edge, like he’s walking on thin ice and he knows that with each step he takes, the ice might crack and he might fall into the icy water and drown. That’s how Bucky makes him feel; like he’s drowning because he’s suddenly forgotten how to swim.

“If he touches you again, I’m getting my rifle,” Clint says as he rises to his feet, and Steve doesn’t doubt his words, “I’ll get him from a distance. They’ll never know it was me, or maybe they’ll know, but they’ll never make it stick.”

Steve snorts. “But Natasha will kick your ass.”

“For you, I’m willing to suffer through that.” Clint smiles and winks at him, “But I gotta get to my office before Hill drops by. She’s always in a foul mood on Monday mornings.” He opens the door and turns to look at Steve again, “Lunch at twelve?”

Steve nods. “Of course.”

-x-x-x-

He checks himself in the mirror for what could be the hundredth time. He can’t know for sure. He just knows that he’s really not a vain person, that he never cared about his looks, but tonight is different. Tonight he’s going to a cocktail-party at Hammer Industries and it sounds fancy, and Steve knows that he won’t fit in, not with the suit he’s wearing. Still, it’s the best suit he owns so it will have to do.

Before he can think about re-doing his hair – honestly, he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous about the way he looks – the buzzer sounds and Steve is forced to leave his bathroom. He pads to the front door of his apartment and checks the intercom, a small voice in the back of his head telling him to be careful. The little screen lights up and Steve smiles when he sees that it’s Tony who’s wearing sunglasses again even though it’s almost eight o’clock and it’s dark outside.

He presses the small button right next to the screen, enabling the sound. “I’ll be right there, Tony,” He says, “Give me a minute.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He turns, grabs his keys, cell-phone and coat, and then pauses a second, allowing himself a moment to settle. It’s their second date and it’s a cocktail-party and he feels nervous, yet not as nervous as he felt last time, and with that in mind, he heads downstairs.

Tony is waiting for him in the foyer, taking in the architecture, or maybe he’s trying to look busy. Steve can’t tell. He walks over to him and sees that the man is impeccably dressed, just like last time. He’s wearing a black tailor-made suit that clashes with his purple sunglasses, but if there is one man in this universe that can pull off such a look, it’s Tony.

“Look at you,” Tony says with a radiant smile when Steve stands in front of him, “Dressed to impress.”

“You’re the one who should talk,” Steve easily replies. Now that he stands so close, he can take in the details of Tony’s appearance; from the sharp line of his jaw to his full red lips to his broad shoulders and long limbs. He stops himself, though, because he feels like he’s ogling the man and that’s just rude.

“Ready?” Tony asks.

Steve nods and follows the man outside, only to halt when he spots the car. It’s a black limousine and for a moment Steve thinks he’s missed something, only for his brain to catch up; fancy cocktail-party at Hammer Industries. Of course there would be limousines. Steve already feels out of place and they haven’t even arrived yet. Tony steps forward and opens the door, motioning a hand toward Steve and inviting him to get in the car.

Maybe he should refuse. Maybe he should tell Tony that this is one big mistake and that he doesn’t want to ruin the evening. He’s never been to a cocktail-party. Hell, he’s never really gone out on a week-night, let alone in a suit and riding in a limousine.

His thoughts are seemingly written over his face, because Tony takes a step closer to him and places his hand to the side of Steve’s arm.

“It’ll be fun,” He assures him. Steve looks at him, and Tony removes his sunglasses, sliding them into the pocket of his vest. His brown eyes are unnaturally dark and Steve finds that he can’t look away. “I hope,” Tony adds playfully, “It’s still a Hammer-party and Justin Hammer isn’t known for throwing exciting parties, but the alcohol is free and there will be dancing involved.”

Steve laughs. “That’s not helping.”

“You’re not a dancer?” Tony asks. Steve shakes his head. “I’d pegged you for a dancer. We’ll change that tonight then.” Tony winks at him and steps closer to the car again.

This time, Steve slides in and he can’t help but think that the back of the car is almost as big as his bathroom. He doesn’t think too long about it, though, not when Tony slides in next to him and they start driving. There is no way back now. Or there is, but Steve knows he’d feel terribly rude and he doesn’t want to be the asshole that ruins Tony’s evening.

“Pepper is excited about meeting you,” Tony says, turning his head so he can look at Steve, “I think you’ll really like her. Then again, everyone really likes her. Just don’t believe half of what she says.”

Steve nods, smiling. “She’s your PA, right?”

“Yes,” Tony replies. He reaches sideways and opens what turns out to be a mini-fridge. Steve shouldn’t feel so surprised by that, but he can’t help but widen his eyes when Tony pulls out a bottle of what looks like champagne. _Expensive_ champagne. “We have a love-hate kind of relationship.”

Before Steve can say anything – and he really wants to say something – Tony pops open the bottle and laughs when it spills over his hand. He quickly grabs two glasses and fills them, handing one out for Steve to take a moment later, which Steve does, but he tells himself he’ll drink it because it’s the polite thing to do.

“Are you already trying to get me drunk, Tony?” He asks before taking a sip of the lightly colored drink. It’s good. Actually, it’s really good, but he didn’t expect anything else. Tony is the sort of guy who settles for nothing but the best, he thinks.

“Oh no,” Tony chuckles, “It’s too early to try and get you drunk,” He winks before continuing, “I just find that a drink helps with the nerves. And it generally helps with dealing with the rest of the evening. I usually go for something stronger, but I didn’t think you liked the whiskey I poured you last time.”

Steve remembers that well. He barely touched his drink, but it had nothing to do with the taste. In fact, it had been one of those rare occasions where he’d enjoyed the taste. No, the reason he’d hardly sipped from his glass was because he’d been in the middle of a freak-out. He says none of that out loud, though.

“Well, this is certainly lovely,” He says instead, lifting his glass a little to draw Tony’s attention to it, “But it wasn’t necessary.” He watches Tony take another sip from his glass. “So, cocktail-parties,” He adds, “Something you do often?”

Tony laughs at that. He remembers he posed Steve the same question on their first date, only the subject had been blind dates and not cocktail-parties. “Pepper makes me do at least four a year,” He explains, “It’s good publicity. If I behave, of course.”

Steve can imagine Tony being a wildcard, even though he doesn’t actually know him that well. “Will you behave tonight?” He asks.

“Of course!” Tony finishes the last of his drink, and Steve is reminded that he’s barely touched his – again, like last time. “I have a date to impress.”

“You should have told me about this date,” Steve jokes.

“I didn’t want to scare you off,” Tony replies.

Steve laughs. He doesn’t know why he finds it easy to talk to Tony, or why he finds it easy to flirt with him while everyone knows he doesn’t flirt, although everyone consists mainly out of Clint and Thor. And Bucky, but he bans that name from his mind for the rest of the evening.

After a few minutes, the car comes to a halt. Steve sets his half-empty glass aside, knowing that they have arrived at the party, and glances at Tony, looking for directions, because he’s never done this before and he feels lost. Tony only smiles at him and takes his hand, but he doesn’t open the car-door yet.

“There will be cameras,” He says, sounding almost concerned and apologetic, “I should have told you about them. If you rather avoid them, I can get out first, distract them, and you can slip inside.”

The idea of having to slip inside on his own has a lump forming in Steve’s throat. His hand tightens around Tony’s, and Tony seems to understand. He doesn’t make a mention of it, though, for which Steve feels grateful. Tony brings up Steve’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, and Steve is relieved that it’s too dark in the car for Tony to be able to see the sudden pinkness to his cheeks.

“Let’s go,” Tony says, and then they’re out of the car.

There are flashes going off everywhere, momentarily blinding Steve, but Tony is right at his side, guiding him through the people, holding his hand tightly. He lets out a breath he hadn’t known to be holding the moment they step inside and the flashes are behind them. He can finally see and what he sees … He knew it was going to be fancy, but this is more than fancy. This seems like a scene ripped straight out of ‘The Great Gatsby’.

People are everywhere, all immaculately dressed in clothes that probably cost more than what he earns in a month, and that goes for Tony’s suit as well. There are waiters everywhere, offering drinks and taking orders, and in the corner of the large room is a live orchestra, music floating through the air, soft and beautiful.

“God, this looks …” He doesn’t have any words for it.

“Chic?” Offers an unknown man. He’s dressed stylishly, his suit obviously tailor-made as well. He wears glasses which suit him, but Steve can’t help but think that the man has a strange look on his face. His smile is too … forced. It definitely doesn’t reach his eyes. “Exclusive? Sumptuous? Grand?”

“Wasteful,” Tony says. Steve looks sideways when Tony folds an arm around his waist, pulling him closer a little. “Steve, meet Mr. Hammer, host of this _wasteful_ party.”

Steve isn’t sure what’s happening, but he goes along with it, whatever _it_ is. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hammer,” He says, holding out a hand for the man to shake, which he does, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Welcome, Mr. Rogers,” Justin Hammer replies. His smile transforms into something sharp, something Steve doesn’t understand, but it’s directed at him and it makes him feel … scrutinized and judged. “I don’t know how Tony does it, but he always hooks the pretty ones.”

Steve doesn’t like him. It happens as fast as that. He meets the guy, he opens his mouth, and he doesn’t like him, but of course he makes sure Justin Hammer doesn’t notice that. He keeps smiling at him as he drops his hand, and he’s suddenly glad that Tony has an arm around him. It allows for him to place his hand on top of Tony’s and for some reason that makes him feel a little better again.

“If you’ll excuse us now, Justin,” Tony says, and Steve can hear in the tone of his voice that Tony doesn’t like the guy either. It’s good to know he’s not alone in that. “I promised Steve a fun evening and I’m letting him down, I’m afraid.”

Justin’s eyes widen when the subtle insult hits him, but before he can reply, Tony is already pulling Steve away from the man and toward the nearest waiter. Steve looks over his shoulder and sees Justin staring at them, but he finds that he doesn’t care. He focuses back on Tony.

“What a dick,” He says without thinking.

“I’m glad you think so,” Tony replies. He takes two glasses of wine from the waiter’s plateau and hands one over to Steve. “Ignore him,” He says, “He’s a little weasel and has been trying to get in my pants since I first met him a few years ago. Or … well … technically, he’s been trying to get me into his pants.”

Steve almost chokes on his wine. “Excuse me?”

Tony laughs, his head thrown back a little, his eyes squeezed shut. He has a nice laugh, a warm one that Steve genuinely likes.

“Don’t worry, his plan won’t succeed,” He reassures Steve.

Not that Steve needs reassuring of that. He’s just not used to having a guy talk so openly about that, but those thoughts disappear when Tony places a hand to the small of his back to guide him through the crowd, closer toward the orchestra. He sets his glass down onto the nearest table and takes Steve’s glass, too.

“I promised you dancing,” Tony says as he moves to stand in front of him. He takes hold of his hand again and walks him to an open spot. A few others are dancing, too. Steve can feel eyes land on him and Tony. He’s a guy after all. And Tony’s a guy. It turns a few heads. But Tony casually slips an arm around his waist again, pulls him closer, and starts swaying with him to the rhythm of a soft song, and it’s enough for Steve to forget about the people staring.

This is just him and Tony, and he wonders if Tony can feel the beating of his heart, because it’s loud and fast. It’s the first time that he’s been so close to him, and that includes their brief kiss on their first date. This is a different closeness, however, their whole bodies practically touching.

Tony’s hand slips to the small of his back and stays there. “So how do you like this party?” He asks. He’s shorter than Steve so he needs to look up a little to gaze into Steve’s light blue eyes.

“Extravagant,” Steve replies, “I think this party is extravagant,” He glances around, “And people are staring.”

“Of course they’re staring,” Tony says, “They’re all jealous of my date.”

Tony spins them around and it happens so casually and so freely that it makes Steve smile. They’re swaying again, the song having slowed down a little, and Steve uses the opportunity to place his hands to Tony’s hips, to steady them. He quite likes dancing like this.

“You always know what to say,” He notes.

“Practice makes perfect,” Tony grins.

Steve falters. His gaze falls down to their feet and his heart stutters as a strange tightness encloses around his chest, making it hard for him to breathe, because who is he kidding? This is _Tony Stark_ , a man who’s so confident that it radiates from his skin, that it almost makes him glow, and he’s just … Steve Rogers.

“I said something wrong,” Tony says, calling back Steve’s attention. He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, and when Steve looks up to look into his dark eyes, he can see regret and guilt fill his gaze. “Sometimes I talk without thinking and I blurt out these things and–”

“No, it’s …” It’s what? Steve sighs, only to realize they’re no longer dancing and that _more_ people are staring at them. It feels uncomfortable and Steve turns red, and this time, it has nothing to do with a compliment. No, this time it has everything to do with the uncontrollable urge to flee the room, because he had been right all along. He doesn’t fit in here.

“Listen,” Tony says like he can read Steve’s thoughts. He takes his hands into his own and squeezes them gently. “Practice makes perfect? Who says that kind of bullshit? I know who does; assholes.” Steve arches an eyebrow at Tony’s words, but that doesn’t stop him from talking. “I’m an asshole. Forget I ever said that.”

“It’s just that … My last boyfriend …” Steve tries again, but he can’t get the words out. He can’t tell Tony about his previous … experiences. The last thing he wants is for Tony to run the other way, and huh, would you look at that? He doesn’t _want_ Tony to run the other way. He doesn’t _want_ the evening the end. He likes dancing with him and he likes talking to him.

“I don’t care about previous boyfriends,” Tony says when he knows that Steve can’t utter another word, “I don’t care about who you’ve been with and how many and where and when. That’s none of my business.” Steve stares at him and he hates that his thoughts must have been so clearly written on his face, because it’s the only explanation for Tony saying all those things. “I don’t care about any of that if you don’t care about any of my … escapades.”

Steve huffs out a short laugh. He can imagine that Tony’s list of exes is longer than his. And that’s the whole point. Steve doesn’t have a list. He just has one name, and it’s still haunting him, even after two years.

“I only care about the here and now,” He replies, cursing himself since that might just be the corniest thing anyone has ever said.

“Great,” Tony grins brightly, “Glad to hear that.” He places one hand back to the small of Steve’s back and holds onto his other hand, raising it into the air a bit, the position easier to dance in. “You know everyone is still staring at us,” He says, and Steve nods, because yes, he’s very much aware of that, “Let’s give them something to stare at.”

Steve frowns.

“I want to kiss you,” Tony explains when he spins them around, “Can I kiss you?”

He knows what Tony is doing. He’s testing the waters. Last time they kissed, he completely freaked out and the evening almost took a turn for the worst. Now Tony is considerate and gentle, and Steve can feel something flutter inside of him, something that makes him smile.

“You can kiss me,” He says.

And Tony does. They stop dancing and one of Tony’s hands moves to the side Steve’s neck, his other remaining firmly at the small of Steve’s back. And Steve is left clueless as to what he’s supposed to do with his hands so he puts them to Tony’s sides. Their lips are working in unison, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut, the world melting away around him. He’s no longer in a room full of strangers. He’s just with Tony and he’s enjoying the kiss. His lips part and he can feel Tony smile against them before he feels his tongue run over his, exploring his mouth, which Steve allows, because it’s new and it feels sort of … dangerous and he likes it.

Someone clears her voice behind them, and their kiss breaks. Their position does not, however. Steve glances over his shoulder to find a redhead staring at them, an obvious look of disapproval in her light green eyes, and Steve can feel his cheeks flush. Right, he’d been kissing Tony in the middle of a crowded room. Perhaps not everyone appreciates that.

“Steve, darling, meet Pepper, my beloved PA,” Tony says after a few seconds of silence.

Steve’s eyes widen and he pulls himself free from Tony’s arms. Why, he doesn’t know. He just knows that he suddenly understands the disapproving look and that this wasn’t how he wanted to meet her for the first time.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Steve says, holding out his hand.

Pepper shakes it, offering him a kind and warm smile. This time, there is no disapproval in her gaze, which Steve finds strange, but then she turns her attention to Tony for a second and oh, there it is again. “It’s so nice to meet you, Steve,” She says when she looks at him again, “I’ve heard much about you.”

“And he has heard a lot about you,” Tony replies before Steve can, “I warned him about you.”

“Don’t believe a word he says,” Pepper says, all the disapproval already having left her features. She’s smiling now, her eyes bright with amusement. “I don’t actually bite,” She tells Steve, “I just bite him.”

“See what kind of abuse I have to deal with day in, day out?” Tony asks, scoffing. He turns to Steve and shakes his head. “Half of the time, I wonder why I even hired her. Or why I haven’t fired her yet. She makes my life a living hell.”

“Of course I do,” Pepper says, patting Tony’s arm.

“Well, in any case,” Steve says, because he feels he should say something, no matter how much he enjoys the exchange between Tony and his PA, “Pepper, you look gorgeous.”

And she does. She really does. Her light red hair lies loosely around her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends, and she’s wearing a long, silky blue dress that seems to hug her long, thin body. It doesn’t have a back, giving the entire look a sexy edge, but it stays classy.

“Thank you,” She smiles, “You look quite dashing yourself.”

Steve doesn’t believe her, but he thanks her anyway.

“Well, now you’ve met him,” Tony says, taking Steve’s hand into his own and stepping closer toward him, their sides brushing together. Steve stares at Tony for a moment, wondering what he’s doing, only to remember that not all actions need to have a deeper meaning, not with Tony. The guy often acts before he thinks after all. “Steve and I were in the middle of something, actually. We were dancing.”

“Yes, I could tell,” Pepper replies, sighing softly, “Steve, please do me a favor and keep him out of trouble? There are a lot of journalists around. I don’t want another scandal in the newspapers tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Steve promises.

“You’re ruining him, Pepper,” Tony pouts.

“Of course I am,” Pepper replies, rolling her eyes, “Now excuse me, I have a date of my own and I’d like to do some dancing myself. Enjoy the evening, gentlemen.”

Steve watches her go, following her through the crowd, and it doesn’t come as a surprise that she turns a few heads as she walks by. She’s very beautiful after all. Tony snaps his fingers to get his attention back, and Steve can’t help but grin.

“Are you jealous I was watching her go?” He asks, amused.

“Of course I’m jealous,” Tony laughs, “It wouldn’t be the first time she steals my date.”

Steve folds a hand over Tony’s, the one that he so very casually slipped around his waist that he didn’t even notice it. “She’s really nice.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Tony guides him away from the dance floor and snatches two new glasses of wine from a waiter’s tray. “I told you everyone likes her.”

“You like her, too,” Steve says as he accepts the drink.

“I do,” Tony smiles, “But don’t ever tell her that I just admitted that to you.”

“I’ll take it with me to the grave.”

-x-x-x-

It’s the second time that he’s taking the elevator up to Tony’s penthouse and it feels completely different. Last time he didn’t had a clue about what he was doing, but this time he feels more confident. Maybe it’s because Tony seems the more nervous one, which is a surprise really. Still, there is no denying it; Tony’s gaze flickers all over the place – from the lights that show which floor they’re on, to the floor, to the ceiling, and in between, they always settle on Steve.

Steve can’t suppress a smile. He looks at Tony through one of the mirrors surrounding them, amused at watching him for the duration of the ride. Knowing that he can’t keep his eyes off of him for longer than a few seconds makes him feel really damn good about himself. He looks at himself in the mirror ahead, gazing into his own light blue eyes, and he finds that it’s not so hard anymore.

The elevator grinds to a halt and the door slips open. There comes no warning when Tony takes his hand and guides him into the penthouse, but Steve doesn’t mind. He enjoys the feeling of Tony’s hand in his, and the way Tony squeezes it gentle makes him go weak in the knees a little. It’s a ridiculous sensation, but he experiences it anyway.

“Have a seat,” Tony smiles, letting go of Steve’s hand, “I’ll fix us a drink.”

“Is this the part of the evening where you try and get me drunk?” Steve asks with a smile of his own. He does as Tony says; he moves toward the lowered island by the fire-place and sits down. He’s been here before, but he can’t help but take in his surroundings again, and he curses himself when he finds himself staring at the elevator again. It looks like the only exit, though he knows there should be stairs around somewhere. He really shouldn’t be thinking about quick getaways.

“I would never try to get you drunk,” Tony replies smoothly when he moves to sit next to Steve and hands him what looks like a glass of a water, but Steve knows isn’t, “I’m a true gentlemen, remember?”

Steve nods. He sips from the drink, the alcohol burning the back of his throat, but he likes it. The taste starts sweet and ends with a bitter punch. “I had a really fun evening,” He says, turning his eyes to Tony, catching the man staring again, and there is something about those deep, dark eyes that draw him in.

“Yeah, I could get used to cocktail-parties like that,” Tony replies, “The dancing, the kissing …” He trails off as he sets his drink aside onto the low coffee table. Steve follows his actions, fully aware of what they mean. He doesn’t freak out, though. No, he trusts Tony. “I quite like kissing you.”

He expected it, but he still feels a tightness coil around his stomach. Eyes dart to his glass in his hands and before he can think about what he’s doing, he sets it aside and settles back against the couch. He nods, remembering their first kiss on their first date which had happened too fast, but his mind also slips to their second kiss. He enjoyed that and he was disappointed when it ended.

Tony shuffles a little closer and lets his hand rest against the side of Steve’s neck, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Steve wonders if he can feel the racing of his pulse, but if he does, he makes no note of it. Tony acts slowly, like he knows that that is what Steve wants, what he needs, and Steve feels grateful.

He parts his lips when he can feel Tony’s breath ghost over his face, and then they are kissing. It’s slow and gentle and careful, and Steve finds himself moaning softly against Tony’s lips when he feels his tongue explore his mouth for a second time that evening.

He doesn’t want it to stop so he grasps the edge of Tony’s shirt, wanting him to stay in that spot. Tony responds by shifting his head a little, allowing them space to deepen the kiss, and it sends shivers down Steve’s spine, making his shudder. Tony pulls away, and all Steve can think is, _No_. He doesn’t let go of Tony’s shirt. He grips it tighter.

“Don’t stop,” He says, because he’s feeling really good right now and he feels safe and he _trusts_ Tony and he doesn’t want this to stop. Tony instantly obeys and kisses him again. His hand slips from the side of Steve’s neck to the back of his head, the kiss growing and becoming … passionate and hard.

Steve refuses to think about what he’s doing. Or maybe he just _can’t_ think, because Tony is kissing him and he’s kissing him back, and it feels really fucking good and everywhere Tony touches, it leaves a trail of fire on his skin. He moves closer to Tony, pressing his body up against his, and he feels the taut muscles of Tony’s arms beneath his fingertips as he slides them down. Tony’s body easily responds to his touches, and when he moans, Steve can’t help but break the kiss, gasping for air.

“Shit, Steve,” Tony breathes, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and then he’s looking at Steve again, his pupils blown wide, and Steve can’t help but think he did that. It has been years since he had that kind of effect on a man and it sends a thrill of confidence through his body. He latches onto it, refusing to break this moment, refusing to overthink everything right now.

“Tell me what to do,” He says. It comes natural to him, the words easily slipping from his tongue, but it earns him a frown from Tony.

“No,” He says, “You’re in charge. I don’t want … I don’t want to go too fast.”

Steve hesitates. He pulls back a little and stares at Tony, taking in his features – his dark eyes with wide blown pupils, his swollen lips from kissing so hard, the sharp line of his jaw that begs to be kissed as well, and his slightly ruffled hair. Thought after thought crashes into Steve’s mind, telling him to run, to leave while he still can, to get out before it gets too dangerous, but then his gaze locks with Tony’s, and he knows that he wants this. They aren’t all like Bucky after all.

“I want this,” He says. His hands slide down Tony’s chest and he can feel the man’s heart race beneath his ribs. It makes him smile. It makes him feel good about what they’re doing. “I want you to tell me what to do. I want you to …”

He pauses, because Tony is staring at him, still frowning, and it’s enough to make his confidence shatter into a thousand little pieces.

Tony notices. His hands fold around Steve’s wrists, holding them, but not too tight and not too lose. He’s just holding them. “You want me to what?” He asks with a voice heavy with lust.

Steve swallows heavily. That voice in the back of his head is screaming at him now, telling him to go now, to leave, to acknowledge the fact that this was a very bad idea, only … Tony is still holding his wrists and Steve is gazing into his dark brown eyes that speak only of … encouragement.

“I want you to take care of me,” He says softly, eyes falling down to his lap.

Tony’s hands slip up Steve’s arms. “That’s what you really want, what you like?” He asks, “For me to tell you what to do, to take care of you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Tony replies, the edges of his lips curving upward in a smile.

Steve can feel some of the tension that gathered in his shoulder slip away and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Okay, I can do that,” Tony continues, nodding as the tips of his fingers slip up Steve’s neck, “But I want to do it right.” He cards a hand through Steve’s hair, the act so calming that it makes Steve close his eyes for a second. “We should discuss this first.”

“I know,” Steve answers. He opens his eyes when Tony’s hands fall away from his face and settle on his knees instead, and Steve can’t help but turn his body toward Tony. He wants this. “Ask away.”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Soldier,” Steve answers without having to think about it.

“Good, mine is Manhattan,” Tony smiles, “And what do you like?”

That’s a tougher question. His thoughts drift to Bucky, but that’s not helping. It causes his heart to skip a beat, his body to tense. “I don’t know,” He admits. He casts his eyes down again, because he’s an idiot and what on earth was he thinking? He told Tony he wanted this, but he can’t tell him what he likes? Fuck!

“That’s okay,” Tony replies. Steve knows Tony notices his sudden nervousness, because he brushes a hand down the side of Steve’s face and lifts his chin a little, silently asking him to meet his gaze. And Steve does. “Is there anything you _don’t_ like?”

Steve doesn’t have to think about that one either. “No restraints,” He says, and maybe the words leave his lips a little bit too quickly, but if Tony notices something odd about the way he says them, he makes no show of it, “No cuffs or anything,” He says slower, “If you tell me not to move or something, I won’t, just no …”

“No restraints,” Tony says, smiling reassuringly at him, “Got it. How about touching you? Anywhere that’s off limits?”

God, he can’t answer that question either! His mind just blanks, and Steve curses himself for diving into this without thinking this through, without planning every second or preparing every action or every exchanged word.

“I don’t know,” He admits, but before Tony can reply, he adds, “We could do the color-game.” He offers it because it’s something he can have control over. Unless Tony turns out to be an inconsiderate asshole, but Steve refuses to indulge those sorts of thoughts.

“The color-game?” Tony questions.

“Yes,” Steve says, and it surprises him that he’s smiling. He feels like those thousand little pieces of confidence are slowly melding together again. “Red or green. You can touch me for as long as I say green. If I don’t like it, I say red and–”

“–I immediately stop,” Tony finishes Steve’s sentence, understanding the concept of the game, “I can definitely do that.” Tony pulls away slowly, taking his drink back in hand and taking a generous gulp. “Okay, great,” He smiles radiantly, “Why don’t you go freshen up in the bathroom and then once you return, we can start?”

Steve stares at Tony, letting the man’s confidence wash over his body, hoping that it will somehow help rebuild his own, and he thinks it’s working, because his heart is racing within his chest, warmth spreading throughout his entire body, and his head is swimming. In that moment, he knows he can do this. He wants to do this. Excitement makes him smile.

“Okay,” He says, rising to his feet and looking down at Tony, “Give me a few minutes and then I’ll return.”

Tony returns his smile. “Fantastic.”


	3. The Color-Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is where things become explicit... It's my first attempt at something like this, so I hope it doesn't suck.
> 
> GreenLoki, you are my hero! Thank you, girl, for all your help with this!

He’s looking at himself in the mirror and he knows it’s a bad idea. Looking at himself for too long leads to unwanted thoughts. It leads to second-guessing himself, and if he looks into the mirror for too long, he thinks he can see all his fear and insecurities and anxiety written so very clearly in his bright blue eyes, and he hates it. If he can see it, he’s sure others can see it, too.

Steve holds his hands underneath the running water, gathers some in the palms of his hands, and splashes it into his face, the cold water refreshing. It’s enough to drive his thoughts away just enough so he can get a grip on himself, so he can tell himself that he wants this and that it’ll be okay. He can trust Tony.

After drying his face with a towel he found to the side, he turns around and heads back to the main area of the penthouse. He knows he’ll find Tony in the same position he left him in and he knows what’s expected of him. Just the thought of what will happen sends shivers down his spine, his heart skipping a beat, and he likes it. The energy thrumming through his body makes him feel alive.

Tony has shifted some. He’s sitting in the middle of the long couch, one ankle resting over one knee and he’s leaning back, an arm draped over the edge of the couch while his other one is holding a drink – a glass of whiskey if Steve’s not mistaken. Slowly he emerges from the hallway and moves toward him, his blue eyes taking in every detail of Tony’s features, searching for clues as to what’s expected of him, but all that he finds is Tony’s smile, warm and inviting and reassuring.

There must be something in his gaze to betray his nervousness, though, because Tony sets his drink aside and stands, that smile of his never wavering, and Steve is silently thanking him for it. It helps him remember that he can do this. And he wants this. God, he wants this!

“Come here,” Tony says softly as he steps around the low coffee table and holds out a hand for Steve to take – which he does, gladly. His fingers curl around Tony’s hand and he focuses on the warmth of it and on the feel of Tony’s fingers sliding along his skin. “You can still change your mind.”

He shakes his head, eyes locking with Tony’s, and he once again understands that having eye- _contact_ can be something quite special. “Tell me what to do,” He replies with an equally soft voice, and maybe he sounds a bit nervous, but he doesn’t mind anymore and he’s not afraid that Tony will see it in his gaze.

Tony’s thumb rubs circles into the back of his hand for a moment and then he lets go. Steve can feel his breath flutter inside his chest and he likes the feeling. He feels better. He feels more confident. This is a game he’s played before and he knows the rules. He knows what’s expected of him.

“I want to see you,” Tony says. He takes a step back, his dark eyes roaming over Steve’s body that’s entirely covered up. “Strip for me.”

It’s a direct order, one he hasn’t been given in ages, and Steve feels excited. He knows Tony can tell because the man’s eyes become alight with something akin to anticipation, like he’s become aware that this is really something Steve wants and that he’s not going to back out at the last second. It’s enough to have another wave of confidence crash into Steve, making him pull his lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently. Yes, he’s playing the game now, and he’s playing with all the cards he’s been dealt.

Tony eagerly follows his fingers that are moving to his vest, unbuttoning it. He shrugs it off and tosses it onto the couch. His next movements are slower as he pulls loose his tie and tosses it onto his vest. He never looks away from Tony. No, he needs the affirmation in his dark, brown eyes. He needs to see that he’s doing everything just like he wants it done.

Tony hums, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside his throat, and Steve smiles at it. It’s been a while since he’s had this effect on someone, and it encourages him to continue. Slowly, teasingly, he unbuttons his shirt, revealing more and more skin as he moves down. When he lets his shirt fall to the floor, he hears Tony make another sound, this time a more strangled one, and Steve can’t help but look down, wanting to see what Tony is seeing right now.

He never liked his own body and for a long time he felt tainted after he left Bucky, but – No. He can’t think of him right now, not while he’s with Tony. He looks back up, deciding to focus entirely on him, and he finds that Tony is biting down on his lower lip, hard, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t allow himself.

Tony isn’t looking into his eyes anymore. Instead, he’s taking in every detail of his torso, and Steve knows what he sees; tanned and smooth skin, taut muscles and broad shoulders. He wishes he could see Tony in return, but he doesn’t voice that thought. He keeps letting his fingers roam further down, unzipping his trousers and pushing them down his hips. He kicks off his shoes while his trousers slip down his legs and once they’re pooled around his ankles, he steps out of them.

He’s standing in nothing but his boxers and socks, and Steve suddenly feels a sharp ping of humiliation, causing his cheeks to flush red and his eyes to fall to the floor. He doesn’t even know why he feels like that all of a sudden.

“No, don’t look away,” Tony says. He steps up to Steve and takes hold of his hand again, fingers curling so very lightly around his hand. “I like seeing your eyes,” He adds, picking up Steve’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, like a gentleman would.

Steve releases a breath he hadn’t known to be holding, and once Tony lets go again, he makes work of the rest of his clothes. It’s only after he’s standing naked in front of Tony that he feels calm. It’s a strange sensation, one Steve didn’t expect, but he feels calm nonetheless, even when standing entirely naked, because he’s with Tony and he likes him and he trusts him, and Tony looks just as flushed as he does.

Apparently, it’s Tony’s turn then. Steve watches as he removes his vest and shirt, too. Tony’s smaller than he is, and he’s not quite as broad, but there’s no mistaking the muscles that ripple beneath his skin with every movement he makes. Steve can’t help but lick his lips as he watches the scene unfold before him, causing heat to pool to his crotch. Tony acts slowly as well, like he’s trying to punish Steve for being slow himself, but Steve can’t bring himself to mind. No, he watches with eager eyes how Tony throws his clothes aside, starting with his vest and shirt, then his shoes and socks, and eventually his black trousers. He was never wearing any underwear, and Steve doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, but right now, it’s hard not to notice Tony’s semi hardness hanging heavily between his legs, the head red and swollen already.

Tony’s voice draws Steve’s attention back up, and he feels himself grow viciously red in the face because he was staring and Tony noticed, though the man looks nothing but amused and aroused. “Come on,” He says, and with a gentle hand to the small of Steve’s back, he leads them away from the couch and down the hallway.

Steve’s heart is beating wildly within his chest and he wonders if Tony can hear it. If he does, he makes no mention of it, and Steve feels grateful. He decides to stop worrying about every small detail, to just go with the flow and trust that Tony knows what he’s doing, too. God, what if he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing? But one look sideways tells him he’s wrong. Tony radiates nothing but strength and confidence, and no, this is definitely not his first rodeo. It shouldn’t make him feel so jealous.

“I want you to lie down on the bed,” Tony says when they enter the bedroom, “On your stomach.”

It’s the first time Steve has been in this room and he can’t help but take it in. It’s large and spacious – everything is in this penthouse – and the walls are painted in white, one black line seemingly dividing the room in two. Just opposite the bed hangs a TV, right in the middle of the thick black line, and Steve can see himself and Tony reflected in the dark screen. He actually sees the hand Tony has to his back and he sees their bodies close together, and it looks right. It looks good.

The bed in the middle of the room looks clean, like the sheets were put on today, and Steve wonders if Tony had hoped they would share that bed tonight. He doesn’t know how he feels about that, but again he decides to stop overthinking everything so goddamn much. Tony is in charge and he just has to follow orders, he’s good at that, so he walks forward, instantly missing the warmth of Tony’s hand on his skin, and gets on the bed, lying down like Tony wants him to.

Releasing a heavy breath, Steve feels his body slowly relaxing. He’s lying on his stomach, his arms next to his sides and his legs slightly parted. He doesn’t know if that’s what Tony wants, but he does it anyway, and when he feels his semi hardness drag over the softness of the silk sheets, he moans quietly.

He waits for the shift of the mattress, waits for Tony to join him on the bed, but Steve feels nothing. Seconds pass by and he desperately wants to look over his shoulder to see what Tony is doing, if he’s doing anything at all, but then he feels a soft and warm hand moved down the sole of his foot, tickling him, but he stays completely still. The hand moves up his calf next, fingers caressing his skin so very softly, all the way to the back of his knee.

“Steve?” Tony asks, and oh yes, there was a purpose to all of this.

“Green,” He says, his voice soft and breathless, and Steve doesn’t know why Tony has that kind of effect on him. He focuses on the way Tony’s hand moves further up his body, his eyes closing. He wants to feel nothing but that hand, especially when it reaches the back of his thigh and dips inward, the tips of his fingers momentarily brushing past the head of his cock and balls. “Green,” He says again, his voice husky this time, “God, green.”

The mattress finally shifts beneath him and he can feel the warmth of Tony’s body as the man moves closer toward him. His fingers never stop moving, though, and Steve wants to move. He wants to buck his body into his touch, wants to curl his body closer to Tony’s, wants to … There is so much he wants to do, but he does none of it, because Tony is in charge and he doesn’t want to disappoint him.

“Fuck, Steve, you have no idea how gorgeous you are, do you?” Tony asks. His fingers slip over the swell of Steve’s ass, squeezing him gently, and then they are moving further up again.

Steve groans. Tony is driving him crazy and he doesn’t know what he can do about it. He can just lie there and take it. “Green,” He just replies when Tony’s hand brushes over the small of his back, so softly and so carefully that he thinks Tony is purposely trying to make him lose his mind. Tony traces the curve of his spine next and this time Steve can’t help but arch into his touch, because it feels so damn good and he wants more of it. “Green.”

“Don’t move,” Tony says, pressing his hand flat against Steve’s back, pushing him back down, and Steve complies with a groan. “That’s it,” He says, and Steve can hear him smile, can hear satisfaction in his words, and it causes heat to swirl in his stomach which pools in his crotch. His cock feels heavy and thick and shamelessly neglected.

Tony’s fingers start exploring again, his touch so light that it tickles him again, but Steve stays still and he doesn’t make a sound. It’s only then that he realizes his eyes are still closed, but he doesn’t mind. It helps him focus on Tony even when he can’t see him, because he can suddenly hear his quick breathing and he knows that should he open his eyes, he would find Tony flushed and aroused and possibly with a hand around his cock.

Tony traces a long line downwards suddenly, and Steve tenses.

“Red,” He says quickly, too quickly, but he can’t help it. He hardly feels Tony’s touch as he traces the scar that runs down his back. It’s a few inches long and very thin, but it’s there, it will always be there, and Steve can’t bear the thought of anyone touching it. He just can’t bear the thought of it. He opens his eyes and moves away a little, unsure if continuing is a good idea, because God, he really didn’t think this through and maybe he isn’t ready for something like this after all.

Tony quickly pulls away. “Okay,” He says with a reassuring voice and a moment later, Steve can feel Tony’s hand curl around his shoulder like he wants him to stay where he is. He relaxes again, because Tony’s hand really does soothe him. “No touching there,” He says, “Got it.”

A few seconds pass and eventually Steve settles back down, his muscles relaxing. He waits for Tony’s fingers to return to his body, but instead he feels lips press against his shoulder, kissing a path up his collarbone and toward the crook of his neck. They’re so close that he can feel Tony’s breath on his face and he can smell the sweetness of the whiskey he had just minutes before.

“Turn around for me,” Tony whispers, and the words cause a shiver to run down Steve’s back. It’s a good shiver. It’s an excellent shiver, and he feels his cock twitch because of one simple order.

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, obeying. He doesn’t feel more exposed as he lies on his back, momentarily staring up at the white ceiling parted with the black line. He doesn’t mind that his chest is heaving either or that his heart is racing. And if Tony notices and hears, he doesn’t mind that either. His eyes close the second Tony starts running his fingers up his body again, starting at his knees and slowly working their way up. The word ‘green’ slips from his lips with ease, and when Tony folds a hand around his cock, stroking it once, twice, he finds he has no breath inside of him to produce words anymore. He can only think them. _Green, green, green._

His eyes flutter shut when he feels Tony’s lips around the tip of his cock and when he sucks, briefly, but hard, he gasps, his hips thrusting forward, because he needs that. He’s hard and he’s leaking and his body is tingling everywhere Tony touches him, and yes, he’s absolutely going insane. Tony moves upward – Steve groans at the loss of his warm and wet mouth – and kisses him, his tongue flicking out briefly to run over his lower lip.

“I’m going to fuck you, Steve,” He says, purring, and Steve thinks he’s going to melt. He feels that hot. Literally. “So you are going to lie here and spread your legs real wide. As wide as you can. Got that?”

Steve nods. “Yes, sir.” Tony is still above him, looming over him, and when he looks into his dark eyes, Steve thinks those eyes are pinning him down, making it impossible for him to move, but his body is working on its own volition, it seems. He bends his knees, plants his feet firmly onto the mattress, and spreads his thighs as far as he can.

Tony hums in appreciation and arousal, and Steve doesn’t know what he should do. Maybe he shouldn’t do anything but lay here, hands awkwardly beside his body. It feels unnatural and he’s itching to do something. He’s itching to touch Tony, and his eyes betray his thoughts apparently, or perhaps his body does, because before he realizes it, he’s lifted a hand and he’s sliding it down Tony’s chest. He feels his racing heart.

Tony clicks his tongue twice and Steve instantly drops his hand. When he looks up, Tony above him, straddling his hips, ass pressing against his cock, he finds the man grinning. “Do you want to touch me?” He asks. It’s a stupid question, because of course he wants to touch him and Tony knows it.

But Steve nods. “Yes, sir,” He replies, “Can I?” He sounds innocent and he can tell it has one hell of an effect on Tony. The man groans, eyes falling shut momentarily, and his cock twitches heavily against his thigh.

“Go on,” Tony says while he lets his fingers trail down Steve’s chest, “Touch me wherever you want.”

He eagerly obeys that order. He starts at Tony’s knees and slips his hands up his thighs, moving them inward before he cups his balls for a second, squeezing them. He’s rewarded by Tony pushing his hips down, adding pressure to his cock trapped between their bodies, but he doesn’t stop. He ignores Tony’s cock, much like Tony neglected his earlier, and instead feels the taut muscles of his stomach. Tony doesn’t really look like it when he’s dressed in handmade suits, but when he’s naked, Steve can see how muscled he is, how strong he is. He can see the sharp curves of his body and he thinks him beautiful. When he lets his thumbs flick over Tony’s nipples, tricking them into becoming two red buds, hard and just begging to be sucked, Tony latches onto his wrists and stills his movements.

“Enough,” He says. Steve looks him directly in the eyes. He doesn’t fear he did something wrong. No, this is just Tony taking back control before he’s lost it entirely – not that he can lose it entirely. Steve doesn’t want that. “Don’t move,” He adds as he reaches over and opens the top drawer of his nightstand. He takes out a plastic bottle of lube and a condom.

Excitement fills him, and he watches with eager and impatient eyes as Tony rolls on the condom and coats it with lube. He coats his fingers, too, and shuffles downward, settling himself between Steve’s legs. Steve groans at the loss of pressure on his cock which lies heavily on his stomach, dripping pre-cum onto his skin. Tony shoots him a wicked smile before he slips his fingers between his legs and presses one against his hole. It’s little, it’s almost nothing, but it has Steve moaning anyway, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut.

“You like that, don’t you?” Tony asks, and all Steve can do in response is nod. He feels Tony circle his hole, spreading the lube around a little, and then he pushes in, smoothly and quickly, and it burns and Steve wants _more_. God, he needs more! Tony is generous. After thrusting his finger in and out a few times, he adds a second one, scissoring him for a while, and when a third one is added, Steve can’t help but squirm. Fingers are good. Fingers are glorious. But what he really wants is Tony’s cock.

It’s been ages since he had sex, since someone fucked him good and deep. It’s been since Bucky – Steve’s eyes snap open and his breath stutters in his chest. He looks at Tony, needing to see him, and Tony is staring at him, concern in his features. Fuck. No no no.

“You okay?” Tony asks.

“Yeah, green, definitely green,” Steve says. He doesn’t want this to end. He just needs to focus on Tony, ground himself in this moment, and for one goddamn evening, he needs to stop dwelling in the past. That’s not so hard, is it? He decides that it isn’t, not when Tony is still staring at him, his concern slowly ebbing away. But he’s not moving, his three fingers motionless in his ass, and Steve rolls his hips to get them moving again.

It earns him a slap to his thigh. “No moving,” Tony reprimands. The skin where he was hit burns and Steve knows it’s red, but he loves it, and he especially loves it when Tony caresses that spot, soothing the burn he caused. “You’re very desperate, aren’t you?” He teases.

“Please, sir,” Steve says, upping his game. He doesn’t have any control over what Tony does, but he does have some control over Tony. “I need you, please,” He begs. Tony leans over and kisses him. His fingers slip from his ass, and Steve groans at the loss, his hole clenching around air.

“I’m going to fuck you real good,” Tony says against his lips, “And if you don’t cum by my cock alone, you don’t cum at all. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve instantly replies, because yes, he needs Tony to do that. Fuck, these past few years he’s cum by nothing but his own hand. When he feels the tip of Tony’s cock press against his hole, slowly pushing in, Steve reaches up and throws his arms around Tony’s shoulders. He doesn’t care if he has permission or not. He needs something to hold onto. Tony steadies himself by supporting his weight on his arms, hands beside Steve’s head, caging him in.

And then he’s fucking him, hips snapping forward with a fast rhythm. His entire body rocks with Tony’s movements and his cock rubs against his lower stomach. Pleasure ripples through his body, up his spine, spreading through his arms and causing him to hold onto Tony that much tighter. Tony fucks him good – deep and hard, just like he wants and needs, and when he finally finds that one perfect spot inside of him, he screams Tony’s name.

“That’s it,” Tony pants. Steve readjusts his grip on the man and finds his skin slick with a thin layer of sweat. “Let me hear you. I love to hear you.”

Steve keeps saying his name, again and again and again, until it forms a rhythm along with Tony’s thrust. His heart is racing and blood is singing in his ears, so loudly that he can’t even hear his own voice. He’s entirely focused on Tony, on the way he’s moving above him, on the way he gasps with each thrust he gives, the way his arms threaten to give out, and Steve thinks he’d quite like having Tony collapse on top of him.

Pleasure burns him. It fills him and swirls through him. It’s _everywhere_ , and Steve knows he won’t last very much longer, but he doesn’t touch himself, no matter how much he’d like pressure added to the slit of his cock. He doesn’t beg Tony to touch him either. He just takes what’s given to him and he revels at it. He continues to say Tony’s name and he keeps holding onto his shoulders, fingers pressing bruises into his tanned skin, and then it crashes into him, knocking the air from his lungs. White ribbons of cum shoot over his stomach and chest, filling the air with his scent, his ass clenching tightly around Tony’s cock, needing it deeper inside of him, and after Tony adjusts his angle a bit, he pounds straight into his prostate.

Darkness obscures his vision and it’s only a few moments later, when he opens his eyes and feels Tony fucking him through his own orgasm, that he realizes that he actually passed out, but he doesn’t mind. God, he doesn’t mind at all! He can still feel ripples of pleasure course through his body, not as strong as before he passed out, but strong enough to make him moan and squirm.

Tony does collapse on top of him then. He’s breathing hard and fast and he’s entirely spent, but that’s not what Steve focuses on. No, he focuses on the fact that Tony is still inside of him and that they’re basically tangled together. He stretches his legs and turns his head, his nose brushing Tony’s perfectly trimmed goatee.

“I forgot to ask about aftercare,” Tony says after a long silence, “I mean, this was just a test-run and we kept it … pretty clean, but aftercare is still important.”

Steve hums. He doesn’t think he has a voice left inside of him.

“Come on, spill it,” Tony says, and Steve can hear him smile, “Tell me what to do for once.”

“Just this,” Steve says, and yes, his voice is soft and barely above a whisper. He can’t believe Tony has that kind of effect on him. “I like lying together like this.”

Tony moves above him, his flaccid cock slipping from Steve’s hole – Steve who groans at the loss. He feels empty suddenly. And cold. But he says nothing as he watches Tony remove the condom and tie it up. He tosses it into the trashcan in the corner of the room – it’s as white as everything else is around here – and settles back down. Steve curls up beside him and he smiles when Tony pulls him close, wrapping his arm around him, uncaring that they’re sticky with cum and sweat.

“I like you, Steve,” Tony says.

Steve is taken off guard by the sincerity in Tony’s voice, because he’s not used to that. He’s used to Tony making jokes and laughing about things and smiling and grinning and generally avoiding anything too serious, but now he’s radiating nothing but sincerity and Steve feels his heart flutter within his chest. “You don’t have to say that,” He hears himself say. It’s true. Tony doesn’t have to say that just because they had sex. They’re both adults. They have needs.

“I know,” Tony replies. He turns his head and stares directly into Steve’s bright blue eyes. “But I want to say it and now that I’ve said it, I realize that I like saying it. I like you, Steven Rogers.”

He blushes. It’s ridiculous. “I like you, too,” He answers, and that’s it. Nothing else needs to be said.

Steve closes his eyes and focuses on the way Tony is drawing lazy patterns into the skin of his upper arms. He focuses on his breathing evening out and he listens to the steady breathing of his heart. It soothes him, calms him, and before he understands what’s happening, he feels himself falling asleep.

-x-x-x-

_“Sir, Miss Potts is coming up the elevator.”_

Steve groans and tries to place that voice, but his mind is running in circles. He’s never heard that voice before and now that he thinks of it, he’s never been in this bed before. It’s too soft and the sheets are too smooth. They slide around his body and they don’t smell like his fabric softener either. Slowly, the events of last night are returning to him – the cocktail party, the ride home, the talk, _Tony_ – but he doesn’t have time to give it much thought, because there’s movement beside him which draws his attention.

“What does she want?” That’s Tony. Steve doesn’t have to open his eyes to recognize Tony’s soft and deep voice.

 _“She is here because of your meeting with the board this afternoon,”_ The strange voice replies which has an English accent and which seems to come from … everywhere, _“She has the files you will need. She has also brought the newspaper.”_

“The newspaper?”

Steve finally manages to open his eyes and he scans his surroundings, looking for the stranger, but he finds that he’s alone with Tony, which makes no sense. Tony is sitting up, a tablet in his lap, and Steve doesn’t need to see the screen to know that he’s probably working already. Maybe he’s checking mail or looking over blueprints or creating new blueprints. After running a hand over his face – he feels really tired, but that’s not a surprise considering how late it was when they went to bed and how early it is now – he pushes himself into a sitting position as well, smiling when Tony glances over at him.

_“She has something to show you, sir.”_

“What is that?” He asks, looking around, still trying to find the source of the voice.

“Ah, that’s my AI,” Tony answers, like that clarifies everything. Steve frowns at him, which earns him a chuckle and a quick kiss to his lips. “Good morning, by the way. Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, that’s fine,” Steve says. It’s Thursday and judging by the way the sun is only just peeking over the horizon – even the bedroom has an amazing view of the New York skyline – it’s just a little past seven o’clock. “Your AI?” He asks.

“Yes, Jarvis,” Tony says. He ticks away on the tablet, which Steve suspects Tony made himself because it’s a model he has never seen before and it looks quite … Stark-like, before he turns the screen black and tosses it aside, the device ending up at the foot of the massive bed. “I made him. He’s like my butler, only smarter. Way smarter. I made him like that.”

“I see,” Steve says, but he still finds it hard to wrap his head around. Artificial intelligences, he thinks, was something he thought only existed in science fiction movies.

“Don’t worry about Jarvis, Steve,” Tony grins, “He likes you.” Steve definitely doesn’t have an answer to that. Can an AI really like him? And what would it mean if it didn’t like him? They’re thoughts he rather bans from his head because they give him a headache and it’s way too early to be having a headache. “Anyway, I have to go meet Pepper,” Tony continues while he runs a hand through Steve’s short, blond hair, “Why don’t you help yourself in the bathroom, then maybe we can go out for breakfast, and then I assume you’ll have to go to work?”

God, Steve hadn’t even thought about work! “I have to be at the office at 8.30,” He says, nodding. He’s leaning into Tony’s touch and he doesn’t want that hand gone just yet. He really likes Tony’s hands and as he thinks of last night – Tony’s hands exploring every inch of his body – he smiles.

“Plenty of time then,” Tony says.

He’s in the shower a few minutes later, warm rays of water pouring down on his head, washing away the last traces of sex. It washes away Tony, too, and Steve wishes Tony was in the shower with him. The glass cabinet is definitely big enough for two, perhaps even for three. Picking up a random bottle of shower-gel, he pours some into the palm of his hand and starts scrubbing away. He’s going to smell like Tony for the rest of the day and it’s quite the tranquilizing thought. It means Tony won’t be entirely gone.

When he’s done cleaning and cleansing his body, he steps out of the shower and dries himself off with the softest towel he’s ever laid hands on, and he’s starting to think that Tony is doing everything on purpose – biggest penthouse in the city, softest bed-sheets, best smelling shower-gel, softest towels. It’s getting ridiculous.

Dressing himself in the clothes he wore last night – Tony was smart and kind enough to drop them off in the bathroom since he stripped them off in the living room last night – Steve checks himself one last time, and then he sets out for the kitchen. As expected, he finds Tony and Pepper at the kitchen table, papers scattered between them and three mugs of steaming coffee to the side. Tony sends him a radiant smile and pushes on of the three mugs toward him. He gratefully accepts it and sips from it and, of course, this must be the most expensive coffee he’s ever tasted because it’s devilishly good.

“Good morning, Steve,” Pepper greets him. She looks as good as she did last night and she’s not even wearing her silky blue cocktail dress. No, today she’s wearing a sharp suit with killer heels. Her hair is tied back into a neat ponytail and her lips are painted in a soft red color. She’s all business today.

“Good morning,” He greets her back, “How was your date last night?”

Pepper shrugs. “A bit on the boring side,” She replies, “It definitely wasn’t worth mentioning in the papers. You and Tony on the other hand …” She pushes the New York Times toward Steve – Steve who has absolutely no idea what Pepper means, but he picks up the paper and instantly tenses when he sees himself in the picture, Tony holding his hand and guiding him through the paparazzi.

He should have expected this, should have known that sooner or later, someone would publish a picture of him and Tony somewhere, but A) he hadn’t expected it so soon, and B) he definitely hadn’t expected it to be in the New York Times! It mentions his name, too, right underneath the picture, and it’s strange to see it printed there. It all feels surreal.

“That makes it official then,” Tony says, drawing Steve’s attention away from the newspaper, “You’re my boyfriend.”

“You needed a newspaper to confirm that?” Steve can’t help but ask, and maybe it comes out sharper than he intended for, but it’s not every day that he wakes up to find his picture on page seven of the biggest newspaper in the city. Still, he feels uneasy and Tony can tell, because the man rises from his seat and walks around the table toward him, taking the newspaper out of his hands and tossing it carelessly onto the kitchen table.

“Of course I don’t need a newspaper to confirm that,” He says as he looks him directly in the eyes. He places his hands on Steve’s hips and squeezes. “But the world is going to find you a whole lot more interesting now,” He adds and there is a cautious tone to his voice, “This probably won’t be the last time you’re in the newspaper. Are you okay with that?”

He inhales deeply and steadies himself and, when he’s looking into Tony’s impossibly dark brown eyes, he knows that he gladly takes on the press if that means he can be with him. “I’m okay with that,” He says, and really, he is. It’s just a picture and his name. He can handle that.

“Great,” Tony says. He straightens himself and kisses him, and Steve can’t help but chuckle against Tony’s lips because he’s standing on his toes in order to deepen the kiss and that just ruins the moment. “Breakfast is going to be difficult, though,” Tony sighs a moment later, “I have files to sort through before the board meeting this afternoon. Rain check?”

“Sure,” Steve says, “Can you drop me off at my place? I want to change my clothes before going into work.”

“Of course,” Tony replies, “Anything for you,” He adds with a wink.

-x-x-x-

Tony apologizes profusely in the car on the way to Steve’s apartment. First he uses only words, saying again and again that he’s sorry for ditching him and that he is going to make it up to him. Steve tries telling him that it’s truly alright, but Tony just has to apologize again, this time using less words, more tongue. It doesn’t even matter that Happy is driving the car and that if he looks into the rearview mirror, he can see Tony, his boss, French kiss the hell out of his boyfriend.

They part, they kiss again, they part for real, and then Steve is hurrying to get to his apartment, get changed, and then get back to the elevator. He’s going to be late for work and Maria is going to skin him alive, but then … Tony is worth getting skinned alive for. Steve pulls his lower lip between his teeth at the memory of Tony kissing the hell out of him and he can’t help but smile. He feels tremendously good, like he can take on the world, so maybe he can take on Maria Hill, too.

The elevator comes to a halt and Steve walks out, still smiling, because he feels amazing. He feels light and it’s a strange sensation, but he holds onto it with both his hands, refusing to let the mood slip away from him. He walks outside, the street mostly abandoned, and heads south, hoping to catch a cab. There might be a chance then that he won’t be late after all.

He feels it when he’s just a few meters away from his apartment building. A pair of dark eyes is weighing him down and causes the little hairs on the back of his neck to rise. Spinning around, Steve easily spots him on the other side of the road; Bucky. His dark eyes are narrowed and his lips are pressed together in two thin lines. A vein is pulsing on the side of his neck, hard and fast, and his hands are balled into tight fists. Steve can’t move. He can only look at him and take in the way he looks like a tightly coiled mass of anger.

In one of his fists is a bundle of paper, and Steve recognizes it. He held the same newspaper just earlier and he knows what’s in it. He knows why Bucky is so incredibly furious. His heart starts beating uncontrollably wild within his chest and his hands begin to tremble, but he can’t move. He can’t even breathe. But then Bucky is moving. He throws the newspaper aside and, without looking, crosses the street, heading straight for him.

Steve acts quickly. He spins around and runs back to his apartment block. He hardly knows what he’s doing, but he finds himself hurrying inside the building and running up the stairs a moment later, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s breathing so fast that he feels sick to his stomach, but he pushes on. He has to.

His apartment is about halfway up the building and he gets there in a record tempo, and by the time he bursts inside his home, he’s completely out of breath. His legs feel like they’re about to give out from underneath him, and as soon as he shuts the door behind him, locking it, they do. He slides down to the floor, his back pressed against the door, breathing hard. He buries his face between his knees, his head pounding, and like that, he tries to think. He really needs to figure out what to do. And he really needs to calm down.

He doesn’t know why he’s freaking out. He just knows that he’s scared out of his mind because Bucky is downstairs and he looked livid. It had been ages since the guy looked so pissed off, and really, Steve knows it’s ridiculous to be so frightened of him, but he can’t help it. After everything that has happened … He’s terrified of that man.

After inhaling deeply, forcing himself to calm down if just a little, he gets up and makes his way to his bedroom. With hands that are still trembling, he opens the safe that’s hidden at the back of his closet and stares at the content for a few long seconds.

This is getting out of hand, he’s aware of that, but he feels he has no other choice. He doesn’t feel safe, so he takes hold of the gun and he loads it. The weight of the weapon and the coldness of the metal aren’t very soothing, but at least now he can defend himself and that thought helps him breathe a little better. Still, the idea of having to go outside again … He can’t bear the thought.

He sits down on the floor at the foot of his bed and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. His hands are shaking so much that he has trouble dialing the number, but he manages and he prays with all his heart that his call will be answered.

It is, and at the sound of his voice, Steve can’t help but release a breath he hadn’t known to be holding.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Comes Clint cheerful voice. The guy doesn’t have a clue of what’s going on and Steve doesn’t know how he can explain. Then again, he doesn’t really need to explain. He knows Clint will understand.

“It’s me,” He replies after a short moment. Of course Clint knows that it’s him, but he doesn’t know how else to start the conversation, to tell him what has happened – or what hasn’t happened, not yet anyway. “Can you come to my place?” He sounds desperate and terrified, and he hates it, but at least Clint will instantly know what’s going on.

“What happened? Did that fucker hurt you?”

“He looked so … God, Clint, can you just come?”

“Give me twenty,” Clint replies, “Don’t open the door for anyone else, Steve, just me.”

He nods, only to realize a moment later that Clint can’t actually see him. “Yeah,” He says, “Yeah, got it. Just … get here.”

And then all he can do is wait.


	4. The Article

There are two loud and brusque knocks to his door, accompanied by Clint’s concerned voice, “It’s me, open up!” and Steve doesn’t even hesitate. He jumps up from where he’s sitting against the wall, eyes trained on the door, and hurries to unlock it. His hands are trembling and his mind is unable to focus on anything but those crazed dark eyes of Bucky so he thinks it a miracle that he remembers how a lock works.

The second he opens the door, Clint is inside, completely out of breath – Steve knows he ran his way over here – and his vibrant colored eyes are taking in his appearance. He doesn’t know what Clint sees, but it can’t be anything good since his gaze fills with more concern and something akin to … frustration? That he didn’t expect and Steve can feel himself crumble even more. He’s so tense that his muscles actually ache.

“Fuck, Steve,” Clint says, shaking his head, eyes on Steve’s hands, “This is getting out of hand.”

It’s only then that he realizes the gun is still firmly in his hand and that his finger is still firmly on the trigger. It’s terrifying to think that he was so focused on Bucky, on the threat that he poses, that he didn’t even remember holding a gun. It’s even more terrifying to know that he answered the door like that and that he could have hurt Clint. With a heavy sigh, he turns away from his friend and walks into his kitchen, knowing Clint will follow, and places the gun onto the table.

Clint’s footsteps sound directly behind him and as soon as he put down the gun, Clint picks it up, removes the bullets and generally makes sure no accidents can happen. “What happened?” He asks.

Steve leans over the kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He can’t bring himself to turn and look at his friend. He needs to focus on his breathing for a while, needs to try and get a grip on the fear that’s coursing through his veins like a wildfire that threatens to consume him whole.

“Steve?”

He releases a heavy breath and closes his eyes, hoping that that will help to order his thoughts, to create order in the chaos. “I’m in the New York Times,” He starts, and when he says it like that, it sounds ridiculous, but he keeps talking. He has to, because if he stops talking now, he thinks he’ll never get the words out. “There was a cocktail party last night at Hammer Industries and there were photographers. So now I’m in the newspaper with Tony, and Bucky saw it. He’s furious that I’m moving on with my life, that I’m with someone else.”

Finally he turns and he finds Clint on the other side of the table, arms crossed before his chest and his eyes wide. For a moment, nothing happens, and then he rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “This is never going to stop,” He says, “There will always be a reason for Bucky to be pissed off.”

“I know, but–”

“No buts,” Clint interjects. He walks around the table, toward him, but he doesn’t actually approach him. No, he keeps a safe distance between them and Steve appreciates it. He already feels like he’s suffocating, so the last thing he needs is Clint – or anyone else for that matter – cramming his space. “Steve, this isn’t the first time I found you scared out of your mind with a gun in your hand. That scares the hell out of me, okay?”

Steve was staring down at the white-tiled kitchen floor, but at those words, he glances up and looks directly into Clint’s eyes. It doesn’t happen often that Clint talks about how he feels about something and to hear such openness in his voice, it’s enough to have him feel guilty about scaring Clint. That was never his intention.

“I’m sorry, Clint, I–”

“I’m not done,” Clint interjects for the second time in less than a minute. Steve closes his mouth and lets Clint do the talking if that’s what he wants. “Bucky is ruining you. More than that, he’s driving you into a corner and the last thing I want to see happen is an accident. You could have hurt yourself, Steve.”

“I can handle a gun.”

“Not when Bucky’s around,” Clint replies, and he has the nerve to roll his eyes, “When he’s around, you’re a mess and you can’t think straight. That’s the effect he has on you. And I get it, I really do, it’s hard to break free of him, but this has got to stop, Steve.”

This time, Steve doesn’t know what to reply. He can’t even look at Clint anymore, because all that he’s saying is true.

“Come to the court house with me,” Clint says with a pleading undertone to his voice. It’s hardly noticeable, but it’s there, and it has Steve close his eyes. This isn’t the first time Clint has asked this of him, but he has never agreed to it. He was always convinced that Bucky would eventually leave him alone and that this mess would end on its own. “This needs to stop, so please, Steve, do what you have to do.”

It’s the right decision and it would solve a lot of problems, but the idea of going to court with this, of involving official institutions … He can’t help but think about Tony. He would have to tell him since there would be no way he can hide something like that from him, and then what? Would Tony run the other way? It could be bad publicity for his company and there is no denying that Tony Stark is a public figure.

He sighs and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t want to deal with this, he’s never wanted to deal with this, but Clint is right. This is getting out of hand. “Okay,” He says, nodding as he drops his hands. He looks at Clint. “Okay, I’ll go to the court house with you and file for a restraining order.”

Clint visibly relaxes with relief. “You’re doing the right thing, Steve,” He says, like he knows Steve needs to hear him actually say it, like he knows he needs to be reassured that this won’t destroy his life, not more than Bucky is already destroying it with his constant presence, “You can file for a domestic violence restraining order and there’s plenty of evidence to have a judge sign off on it.” Clint actually looks happy. “And then in a few weeks’ time, you’ll be rid the asshole. It’ll all be fine.”

Steve realizes that he’s still nodding his head, so he stops. “Yeah, let’s hope so,” He says, and truly, he hopes a restraining order will solve his problems, but he isn’t naïve. This is Bucky they’re talking about and Bucky never gives up.

-x-x-x-

It’s warm for a March afternoon and Steve regrets dressing so warmly. He opens his coat and hopes that that will cool him down a bit, but he doubts it, what with the sun blaring down on him. It’s almost unnatural or maybe it’s the whole global warming event that he’s finally feeling. He doesn’t know and he decides not to dwell on it as he makes his way down the street, toward the Stark building.

The prospect of spending the afternoon with Tony, and possibly the evening and night, causes a smile to spread across his face. He doesn’t know why the mere thought of Tony makes him feel giddy, but he likes it and he looks forward to seeing the labs that Tony promised to show him.

He crosses the street, turns left – and bumps into a body.

Stumbling back, Steve instantly apologizes, only for a hand to grab hold of his wrist and pull him away from the steady stream of people walking by. His blue eyes widen when they lock with impossibly dark ones, and he can feel his heart skip a beat.

“Goddammit, Bucky,” He snaps angrily – he’s relieved to feel angry rather than scared – and he pulls his wrist free. A few people passing by throw them strange looks, but most ignore them. This is New York after all. People don’t have time to worry about strangers.

“A restraining order?” Bucky demands. His voice is tight and his presence radiates nothing but anger. Steve knows that he needs to get away from him, but it’s hard to get his legs moving. His body always seems to stop listening to him whenever Bucky is around. “Really, Steve, a restraining order?”

“Yeah,” He replies, forcing his voice to sound strong and confident even though his anger is already dissipating and being replaced by anxiety and fear. He takes a step back, away from Bucky, only for Bucky to instantly close the distance between them again. “This is getting out of hand,” He says, staring directly into his ex-boyfriend’s eyes, “You left me no choice.”

“Who put you up to this?” Bucky demands to know. He lifts a hand, but Steve doesn’t wait to see what he plans to do. No, he slaps it down, swiftly, much to Bucky’s surprise and irritation. “Did Stark tell you to file for this? Or was it Barton?”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. “I filed for it, Bucky,” He explains, hoping to drill the message into his skull once and for all, but who is he kidding? Bucky doesn’t understand the workings of a normal relationship and he definitely doesn’t understand the workings of a normal break-up. “The hearing is next week, as you well know, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t allowed to contact me before then. I’m sure you won’t be allowed to contact me after anymore either.”

This time, Bucky manages to latch onto Steve’s wrists, holding them so tightly that Steve knows he will have bruises – again. He cringes and closes his eyes, which is the wrong thing to do because it’s like opening the flood-gates and allowing all his insecurities and feelings of worthlessness to crash into his body, making him feel small and insignificant.

“Let me go, Bucky,” He tries.

“This is Barton’s doing,” Bucky replies, and Steve doesn’t know how the guy can sound so strong and so sure of himself, “He’s filling your head with lies. He keeps telling you that I’m wrong for you and that I’m a threat, but I’m not. Steve, baby, I love you.”

Steve starts tugging at his wrists. He opens his eyes and looks at Bucky, and he sees that Bucky actually believes that crap that he’s preaching. “Let me go,” He says again, stronger this time.

Bucky completely ignores him. “I made one mistake, one, and I’m instantly cut off from you,” He says, and he has the audacity to sound hurt. Steve shakes his head, refusing to listen to Bucky’s lies, to be manipulated and tricked. Because Bucky is good at that. “I told you again and again that I’m sorry, but you won’t listen to me. You won’t give me a chance to make it up to you.”

Finally he manages to rip his wrists free and Steve instantly feels better. “Leave me alone,” He says, sounding out of breath, sounding scared and panicked, but he keeps talking anyway, hoping that one day, the message will land, “I’m with Tony now. I’ve moved on. It’s time for you to do the same, so leave me the hell alone, Bucky.”

“Tony Stark is wrong for you,” Bucky says, lifting one finger as if to warn him, “He’s a player. He’ll use you and then drop you once he’s tired of you.” Steve refuses to listen to that madness, so he turns and he starts walking away, uncaring that he’s also walking away from the Stark building. He just needs to get away. And maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll see a cop. “You’ll regret ever being with him, Steve,” Bucky continues as he follows him down the street, “Tony Stark is a public figure and you are very much not. You can’t handle such a life.”

“Back. Off.” Steve actually stops, turns, and shoves Bucky away. He ignores the racing of his heart and the trembling to his hands. He doesn’t care if he looks like a caged animal or how clearly his fear is written in his eyes, he just cares about ending this madness. “This is becoming pathetic,” He adds with a sharp voice, his words meant to hurt Bucky, because maybe that’s what it will take for the man to finally leave him alone, “You’re pathetic to be clinging so desperately to something that will never happen. _We_ will never happen again. So leave me alone and go bother something else. I’ll see you in court next week.”

He doesn’t wait to see Bucky’s reaction and he certainly doesn’t wait for his reply. He just turns and stalks away, back straight and chin lifted high, because while he doesn’t feel strong and confident, he can definitely trick Bucky into think that he feels like it. Feigning it isn’t hard. So he walks away, quickly, and crosses the street, forbidding himself from looking back. And with each step he takes, further and further away from Bucky, he feels better. He feels like he doesn’t have to fake it as much anymore.

He heads back to Tony’s building and his confidence swells, and that’s the truth he thinks; Bucky ruins him and breaks him apart into a thousand little pieces, while Tony makes him feel strong and fearless. Tony makes him feel courageous and bold, and he likes that. So he keeps walking and he doesn’t look back.

When he walks into the lobby of the Stark building, he’s smiling again. He feels good.

-x-x-x-

Tony is waiting for him in the lobby, dressed in black trousers and a casual dark blue shirt. He looks content and relaxed, and just the sight of him has Steve smile like a fool. He approaches him, his footsteps loud enough to draw Tony’s attention, and once their eyes connect, Tony grins, his dark eyes lighting up.

“I thought you weren’t going to show up,” Tony says.

Steve wants to apologize for the delay, but he doesn’t get the chance. Tony places his hands on the sides of his neck and pulls him down so he can kiss him, and it isn’t an innocent peck on the lips either. No, Tony goes as far as sneaking his tongue past his lips, and Steve can’t help but let out a surprised moan. The second the kiss ends, he glances around, expecting people to stare at them or send them disapproving glances, but no one is paying them any attention. Still, Steve feels himself flush.

“Sorry about being late,” He says, finally able to apologize, “I ran–” He didn’t want to stop talking, but the words get stuck in his throat. He should tell Tony about Bucky, should explain to him what happened, but there is that ever-present fear that when Tony learns the truth about his crazy ex-boyfriend, he will leave. “Sorry,” He says again, “But I’m here now.”

Tony sends him a confused look, his tongue clicking once inside his mouth. “Are you okay?” He asks then, a hand slipping down Steve’s arm. “You seem … I don’t know …”

“I’m good,” Steve replies while focusing on keeping that smile in place. He can see that he isn’t entirely convincing him, but it’s apparently convincing enough to make the confusion and concern disappear from Tony’s dark brown eyes.

“Let’s go then,” Tony says, excited. He takes hold of Steve’s hand and guides him toward the elevator. A few people greet them as they pass by, but Tony isn’t really paying them much attention, and Steve can’t help but greet them back in his stead. “You will love the labs,” Tony continues once they’re inside the small cubicle that takes them up to the R&D division.

It’s located on the thirty fifth floor so the ride in the elevator takes over half a minute. Tony babbles about the inception of the division, how his father Howard Stark founded Stark Industries shortly after the Second World War. Tony sounds so enthusiastic and passionate that Steve can’t help but cling to his every word.

The elevator comes to a stop and the door slip open. Tony, still holding his hand, tugs him out of the small space and into an open area that’s full of tables – though work benches is probably the more appropriate word. The walls are white and the floor shines so brilliantly that Steve can see his reflection in the equally white tiles. The room is buzzing with people, too, all dressed in white lab coats, all focused on their work. A soft tune is hanging in the air.

“Welcome to the R&D division, Mister Rogers,” Tony announces proudly, “Not many are allowed in here, but I just had to show you.”

“This looks …” Steve can’t find the right words to describe what this looks like, so he settles on, “This looks like a scene from some science fiction movie.” Though he supposes that shouldn’t be a surprise. Meeting Jarvis, the AI, had felt like something out of a sci-fi movie, too, and he realizes that while all this is innovating and strange to him, it’s normal to Tony.

A man walks toward them. Like everyone else, he’s wearing a white lab-coat, but unlike everyone else he isn’t completely absorbed in his work – hence he’s walking toward them, smiling, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and his dark curls bouncing around his round face with each step he takes. “Tony,” The man says once he’s come to a halt in front of them, “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“Why, is something going on I can’t know about?” Tony asks, but there isn’t a note of sincerity to his face. No, Tony looks and sounds relaxed, especially so when he’s shaking the man’s hand. “Bruce, this is Steve Rogers, as you probably already know, what with his picture having been in the New York Times and all,” Tony is grinning now and winks at him when their gazes connect, “Steve, meet Bruce Banner, the head of my R&D division.”

Steve shakes the man’s hand and smiles at him. Bruce returns the smile, and Steve doesn’t know how it happens, but he likes him. That’s how quickly it happens – he meets Bruce and he likes him. “Nice to meet you, Mister Banner.”

“Technically, it’s Doctor Banner,” Tony says, waving a hand around like that will make his point more clear.

It earns him a dark glare from Bruce before he focuses on Steve again. “Call me Bruce, please,” He says, “Only Tony has to call me doctor because I like to remind him of the fact that he’s not the only smart person in the room.”

“Oh please,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes, but there is no denying the smirk that’s tugging at the corners of his lips, “You’re a smart man, I’ll never deny that, but there will only ever be one genius in the room, and that’s me.”

Bruce laughs, the sound warm and kindhearted. “Don’t let his ego grow out of control, Steve,” He says, shaking his head, “It would be catastrophic if that were to happen.” And yes, Steve decides, he definitely likes Bruce Banner. “If he gets too much, just remind him of the Mark One incident.”

“That’s low, Banner,” Tony says, “But too late. I already told Steve about that.”

“Oh, the time you crashed into the ceiling?” Steve asks.

“Then ask him about the Mark Two incident,” Bruce grins. Tony looks shocked and betrayed while Bruce looks nothing short of smug as he walks away. “I should get back to work.”

“Yes, I agree,” Tony says eagerly, “I don’t pay you to stand around talking to the boss.”

“It was nice meeting you, Steve,” Bruce says, and then he turns and heads back to his work bench.

Steve watches him for a moment before Tony is tugging at his hand again, guiding him through the large room, between the work benches. “The Mark Two incident?” He asks, because there is no way he can let that one go. “Care to elaborate?”

“Nope,” Tony replies.

“Oh, come on,” Steve tries and he puts on his best pout, “Tell me about it.”

Tony looks at him and groans, and Steve knows that he’s already crumbling. The man can’t resist his puppy eyes, which is good to know and something he will definitely use in the future again. “It was another stupid test run,” He starts, waving his hand around again, “I designed a new version of the combat suit for soldiers, a piece of art really. It could fly and it had the best kind of weapons you can imagine; my weapons.”

They get to the end of the room and halt in front of a door that looks like it weighs a ton. There’s an electronic lock and Tony’s fingers shift over the keypad. Once the PIN-code is cleared, there is a loud click and the door opens automatically.

“So I did a test run to see if the thrusters were working properly,” He continues, “I took it out for a spin, gained altitude and discovered I had a bit of a frosting problem. But I fixed that so I went home, only when I landed, I crashed through the floor, twice. I killed my grand piano and a sports car.”

Steve stares at him and bites down on his lip.

“Don’t give me that look,” Tony replies, closing the door behind them.

“I’m not giving you any look,” Steve tries, but it’s damn hard to keep a straight face, “I was just wondering if there’s any footage of that incident, because I’d love to see that.”

“You’re not seeing anything,” Tony announces grandly, bombastically, dramatically. Steve bursts with laughter, because the mere idea of Tony crashing through his own house is, frankly, hilarious, and he’d pay good money to get his hands on that video. “It doesn’t matter,” Tony says, smacking Steve’s arm playfully, demanding his attention, “Because here we are. I call this my garage. This is where the real magic happens.”

Steve inhales deeply to steady himself and looks around. It’s nothing like the lab outside. No, this room is filled with warm colors – dark blue walls, wooden floors and a work bench that’s apparently made from red granite. There are blueprints everywhere, but little makes sense to Steve. “Yeah, okay, this is …” Again, he can’t find the right word. He moves deeper into the room that’s almost as large as the one where Bruce and his team are working, but this is just for Tony.

“Not many are allowed in here,” Tony says.

“Why am I allowed in here then?” Steve asks as he lets the tips of his fingers trail over the smooth granite surface of the work bench. The air is thick with oil which isn’t unusual considering the amount of tools lying around on various other tables.

Tony shrugs at his question. “I just wanted to show you where I work,” He says, following closely behind Steve, “Contrary to popular belief, I’m a private person. There’s Tony Stark, the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. And there’s Tony Stark who’s just ... me.”

Steve turns and looks at him, right into those impossibly dark brown eyes. Earnestness radiates from him and it momentarily overwhelms Steve which is a strange notion, but it’s true nonetheless. Tony is staring back at him, like he’s waiting, and Steve realizes that he’s waiting for a reaction, for him to perhaps laugh and say that there’s no difference or for him to … To do what exactly? Steve decides not to think too much – that never helps his case – and instead steps up to him and kisses him. It’s a slow kiss, tender, and Steve lets it grow and deepen before he pulls away and finds the great Tony Stark breathless.

“This is amazing,” He says after a short silence, “Can you tell me what you’re working on or will my brain implode? I’m not a scientist after all.”

Tony’s face breaks in a grin. He stands on his toes to peck another quick kiss to his lips and then pulls him along toward a table at the end of the room. It’s full of blueprints and pages full of equations and mathematical formulas. Steve doesn’t look at it for too long. He knows he’ll make little sense of it anyway.

“I’m working on creating a new element,” Tony starts.

Steve doesn’t consider himself a genius. He hardly considers himself smart when it comes to science, but he has enough knowledge to know that he shouldn’t take _‘I’m working on creating a new element’_ lightly. “A new element?” He asks. “One to add to the periodic table?”

“Yep,” Tony says gleefully. He picks up a particular blueprint and spreads it out in front of them. Steve stares at it and much to his own surprise recognizes the object.

“That’s a particle accelerator.”

Tony moans softly, which Steve hadn’t expected, so he looks at the man and frowns. “It turns me on when you talk science.” That’s all Steve needs to flush an embarrassing color of pink and he quickly averts his gaze, focusing back on what lies on the table instead. “The suits I’ve already talked to you about, they’re fueled by palladium. One big disadvantage, though. Palladium poisoning.” He leans back against the table and crosses his arms before his chest. “So the solution is easy enough; we find another element that can fuel the suits, only there’s nothing strong enough.”

“So you want to create a whole new element,” Steve says, nodding. He understands everything Tony is saying, but that doesn’t mean it makes any sense or that he can wrap his head around it.

“Exactly,” Tony says excitedly, “My father actually started working on it a long time ago, but back in the day, there just wasn’t enough funding. And he was limited by the technology back then. He could only dream of building his own particle accelerator. But here we are, two thousand fourteen, and I’m going to make it happen.”

“Okay, dumb question perhaps,” Steve says, mirroring Tony’s stance, only he keeps his hands on the edge of the table, gripping it, “Why? What use will or does the suit have?”

Tony clicks his fingers and points at him. “There’s no such thing as dumb questions, Steve,” He says, “And the use is military of course. It’s all still in the test-phase, but if I could make this work, and I can make anything work, then soldiers could wear this in combat in the future. Imagine the significant drop of casualties.”

Steve nods, because yeah, he can imagine that the army would definitely lose fewer men. “Still sounds expensive,” He muses.

Tony sighs, his arms dropping to his sides. “Yeah, that’s the biggest issue right now. It costs millions to make one suit,” He says. He pushes himself away from the table and turns to look at the blueprints again. “But I don’t want to worry about that yet. My main concern is this new particle that I like to call badassium. Even if the suits aren’t picked up by the government, then I’m still that guy that invented a new particle.” He flashes Steve a wide grin.

And Steve can only return that grin. He doesn’t think he’s seen Tony so confident before, so in his element – excuse the pun – and he knows that this place is like his second home; his garage, where the magic happens. Steve doesn’t doubt it anymore. He steps up to Tony and places his hands to his sides, like he wants to keep the man in place even though he knows well enough that Tony wouldn’t move away even if his life depended on it. Still, he likes to hold him close as he kisses him.

His eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips when he feels Tony’s tongue trace the seam of his lower lip. He tastes like whiskey and something sweet, and Steve moans into the kiss. He likes how Tony tastes and he likes how he feels beneath the tips of his fingers – warm and firm. His hands slide down toward his hips, squeezing them through the black pants he’s wearing.

Tony switches their position and Steve’s mind has trouble catching up to the fact that he’s being hoisted up onto the table, Tony shoving the papers and blueprints away, but he doesn’t care. He’s entirely focused on Tony now, his legs wrapping around his waist, trapping him. For one brief moment, he thinks about the possibility that someone could walk in on them, but A) he doesn’t care if anyone would walk in and B) he assumes Tony is the only one who knows the code to get in here in the first place.

With those thoughts echoing through his mind, he palms Tony through his jeans, getting him hard in what must be a record. He feels him through the thick fabric and squeezes, only to become frustrated with the fact that they’re both dressed. It’s like Tony can read his mind. Two warm hands slip underneath his shirt and pull it over his head while Steve fumbles with the zipper of Tony’s jeans. He manages to zip it down, though, sees that Tony is wearing underwear, but he easily pushes that down, too.

They’re both breathing hard in between kisses – sometimes soft kisses, gentle kiss, but sometimes hard and desperate ones that consist more of biting each other than actually kissing each other. Steve takes Tony in hand and starts stroking him, his movements slow but firm, and each time his thumb slips over the leaking slit, it earns him a wanton moan.

Tony drops his head to Steve’s shoulder and then he’s trailing kisses along his collarbone. Each time he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, Steve hisses, but he rewards Tony with a particularly hard tug or a firm squeeze.

“Fuck, Steve,” Tony gasps. His hips are bucking into his hand, his cock throbbing. He’s close already and the thought has Steve smiling. He doesn’t even care that his own hardness is neglected in his pants. No, Tony is becoming undone by his hands and that alone is enough to satisfy him.

He trails a hand through Tony’s hair, softly, before gripping it tightly and forcing the man to look up at him. Tony looks nothing short of surprised, but Steve pays it no mind. He slams their lips together and sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it until he tastes blood. Tony groans into his mouth, his hands clutching Steve’s sides, fingers bruising his skin, but Steve doesn’t care. On the contrary.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” is all Tony manages to get out before he’s coming, white ribbons shooting from the tip of his cock and coating Steve’s fingers, as well as his bare stomach. Some lands on Tony’s shirt, too, and the thought of Tony having to walk through the lab like that has him chuckle.

Tony is too far gone to notice it. He’s slumped against Steve, face buried in the crook of his neck while his cock is twitching in Steve’s hand. “I was going to propose dinner,” He says, the words slurred, and Steve can’t help but chuckle again. It sounds like he ruined the man. “But fuck that. Let’s go up to the penthouse. We can play first and have dinner later.”

Steve hums. What else can he say but, “Sounds good to me.”

-x-x-x-

It’s a miracle they made it up to the penthouse, Steve thinks. That they didn’t make it to the bedroom isn’t a surprise, but neither he nor Tony minds. Wrapped up in bathrobes, they sit slumped against the couch, the fire cracking in front of them, keeping them warm, though Steve thinks he doesn’t need the fire for that. Tony’s body radiates nothing but heat and with the way their legs are tangled together, he’s in the perfect position to steal some of that heat.

“How do you like it?” Tony asks after a long silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. After everything they’ve done together, the least they are concerned about is silence lasting too long. “I can order something else if you want.”

“It’s pizza,” Steve replies, “What’s not to like?” He takes a large bite from his pepperoni slice and chews it almost thoughtfully. He wants to remember the taste in the morning, because by God, it’s brilliant pizza. He needs to remember the place Tony ordered it from.

“You talk your way right into my heart,” Tony says, grinning. He presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s face, close to his temple, and focuses on his piece again. His left hand is resting on Steve’s thigh, his bathrobe having slipped sideways, and his thumb is rubbing circles into his skin. Whether it’s a deliberate movement or not, Steve doesn’t know; he simply enjoys it.

It’s easy to settle in the moment with Tony, he realizes. It’s easy to forget about the big bad world outside when he’s inside this penthouse, curled up beside him, his skin tingling after Tony lavished him with attention and touches, his bottom slightly sore, but nothing he doesn’t enjoy. It’s easy to feel strong and confident next to a man whose main characteristics are those, and why that is, Steve doesn’t know, but he decides to just bask in it.

The light of Tony’s private elevator jumps on, starting at ground level and slowly making its way up to the top, to the penthouse. Tony turns a little, looking at the golden painted doors like they can open any second even though it will at least take a minute for the person to arrive.

“Jarvis?” Tony asks.

Steve still isn’t used to living in a science fiction movie.

_“Agent Coulson is making his way to the penthouse, sir,”_ The artificial intelligence explains, _“He carries the files you requested and he requests in return that you are at least decent to receive him.”_

Tony snorts at that. He turns back to Steve and sends him an amused look. “Last time Coulson came by, I wasn’t exactly wearing clothes,” He explains, “I wasn’t exactly alone either.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about Tony being with someone else. He doesn’t even know if it was a man or a woman. Tony is the type who swings both ways, though he never actually asked him. Then again, he’s seen him plenty of times in newspapers and magazines. Sometimes a gorgeous model had her hands all over him. Sometimes it was a business partner that was seen grabbing his ass.

“Are we decent now?” He asks as he looks down at the bathrobe he’s wearing. He adjust the fabric so that it’s covering his thighs and knees, and he ignores the pout it earns him from Tony who’s clearly against being dressed properly when receiving guests.

“Don’t you dare suggest getting dressed in a hurry,” Tony says, giving Steve a pointed look which loses all of its heat when the edges of his lips curve upward. “Besides, it’s just Coulson. He’ll be in and out before you’ve blinked those pretty blue eyes of yours.”

Steve rolls his blue eyes – not so pretty in his opinion, just an ordinary blue color – and takes another bite from his pizza. It would be a shame to eat it cold. The elevator doors open with a sharp ping, announcing the guest, and Steve stands, wiping his hands clean with a napkin he picked up from the coffee table.

The man is exactly what he’d expected after hearing _‘Agent Coulson’_. He wears a sharp suit, all black, and his shoes are spit-shined bright. He walks determinedly and when his gaze connects with Steve’s, he smiles. It’s a strange thing to see a man smile without it actually reaching his eyes. Before Steve has the opportunity to say something, the man turns to Tony.

“As requested,” He says, holding out a thick file for Tony to take.

Tony almost hops toward the man, all fatigue suddenly having left his limbs. “I usually hate being handed things,” He says happily, “But this I will gladly accept, my dear Agent Coulson.” He returns to the couch and flops down on it, uncaring of the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe and that the position he’s in is rather … revealing.

Steve stares at him, then looks back at Agent Coulson. “Hi,” He says, sounding awkward.

“You must be Steve Rogers,” Agent Coulson replies, hands folded before him, “Nice to meet you.” His attention slips back to Tony and he’s apparently entirely unfazed that Tony is sprawled out on the couch, shifting through the file. “I don’t have to remind you of the fact that what you’re holding is classified information and that a civilian has no business with it.”

“I take it I’m the civilian,” Steve says, sounding less awkward.

“You are definitely the civilian,” Tony chips in. He tosses the file aside and stands. “Agent Coulson, it was nice having you around, but anything longer than three minutes, I consider an overdose of your presence. So please, show yourself out. I still have plans for the night; hence he and I not wearing clothes.”

Steve bites down on his lips to prevent himself from laughing. Blushing is beyond his control, but nervous laughter is something he can force back down. “It was nice meeting you, too,” He says before Agent Coulson steps back into the elevator and disappears from sight.

“You’re a civilian, Rogers,” Tony says. He grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him down on the couch with him. “But I’ve never been one to play by the rules,” He grins as he picks up the file and opens it randomly, leafing through the pages, “Look at this treasurable file. God, I’ve been waiting months for this.”

Steve hums. “And what is it about?”

Tony looks at him through dark lashes, mischief shining brilliantly in his eyes. “This, my dear Steven Rogers, is everything SHIELD knows about the Tesseract.”

That makes no sense at all. “Excuse me?”

Tony flips over some pages and shows him a picture of a cube that radiates a cold blue color. “The Tesseract,” He says, tapping his pointer finger on the picture, “Would you believe me if I said it’s kept at Area 51? It’s shrouded in mystery, but what matters is that this is something my father found and while we don’t know much about it, we know it could lead us to uncovering clean and self-sustaining energy.”

Steve is very much aware that he’s gaping, but he doesn’t care. This is information a civilian isn’t allowed to know, but he’s hearing it anyway and it sounds like something from the future. It’s not something that could possibly exist in the present, not in two thousand fourteen. “Are you kidding me?” He asks, his voice a pitch too high. “You can’t be serious. Area 51?”

“Uhu,” Tony merely replies, unimpressed. He shifts through the file again. “We’re thinking it comes from World War Two since there were lots of crazy experiments back then. In any case, it radiates a lot of gamma radiation and Bruce happens to be an expert when it comes to that. The Tesseract is also ground zero for badassium which is why SHIELD is kind enough to share their Intel with me. That and the fact that my father founded SHIELD.”

Steve nearly chokes even though he has no actual food or drink in his mouth. “Wait, are you seriously telling me that your father, Howard Stark, founded SHIELD, the secretive antiterroristsecurity service? That SHIELD?”

Tony shrugs. “It’s not that secretive so no big deal,” He says, “The big deal here is that I finally have the information I need to continue my work with the new element.” He laughs then, shortly, but warm. “Ha, those fools actually gave me plans to build a particle accelerator. Like I can’t draw those blueprints in my sleep.”

Steve doesn’t reply. Frankly, his head hurts with the overload of information he’s received in the span of minutes. The Tesseract, SHIELD, Area 51. It’s all a bit much to take in. He slumps against Tony, suddenly feeling tired even though it’s not even ten o’clock yet.

“You recognized a particle accelerator,” Tony says suddenly, “I thought you were an accountant, so how on earth did you recognize a particle accelerator?”

Steve’s eyes have fallen shut, exhaustion settling in his bones. “I was in the army for two years,” He says without really thinking about his words anymore. He doesn’t think it matters. He’s with Tony and he feels he can tell him anything – or almost anything. “It was a special program, not many candidates, and I was put through some god awful training.” It’s been ages since he thought of that time. “I was eighteen when I signed up, and you wouldn’t believe it, Tony, but I was this scrawny, fragile kid.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Tony replies softly. He has an arm wrapped around Steve’s body while a hand is running leisurely through his short, blond hair.

“It’s true,” Steve continues, “But it changed quickly. I worked hard, tortured myself with the amount of push-ups I did, and then there’s the fact that the army gave me enough drugs and pills to possibly kill me. It was all very experimental.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“They called it the super-soldier program.” Steve shifts a bit, his head resting in Tony’s lap, and stares up at him. “It was cancelled after two years. The drugs cost too much. But during the program, we were taught a thing or two; physics, chemistry, biology, you name it. But once I laid eyes on the blueprints of a particle accelerator, which is why I recognized yours.”

“Steve, sweetheart, you have to stop wiggling your way into my heart because I don’t think it can contain you,” Tony says sweetly.

Steve chuckles and closes his eyes again. He feels Tony’s warm breath brush over his face first before he feels his lips against his. He parts them and lets Tony in, enjoying the way Tony’s tongue flicks out and runs over his.

Tony pulls back a little and caresses the side of his face. “Let’s go to bed,” He suggests.

Steve smiles.

-x-x-x-

A hand on the side of his neck wakes him. Steve groans and rolls over, blinking open his eyes, hoping to chase away the fatigue that’s still so very present in his muscles. Tony’s face hovers above his, and Steve can’t help but smile up at him. “Hi, there,” He says with a husky voice, sleep still in his bones.

“Good morning,” Tony replies. His hand shifts higher, his thumb caressing the side of his face while he kisses the top of his head. “There is something I have to show you, Steve.”

Steve frowns, but he doesn’t ask questions as he pushes himself into a sitting position and rubs a hand over his face. Tony steps back, and Steve steps out of the bed, only to remember that they weren’t exactly wearing clothes when they got to bed last night. Tony grins at him, winking, before handing him his clothes. Steve rolls his eyes playfully, but he doesn’t say a word as he pulls on his jeans, shirt and shoes.

He pads after Tony toward the kitchen, fully willing to wait and see what Tony has to say, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “What’s going on?”

“It’s better if I just show you,” Tony replies, looking over his shoulder at him.

“Okay.” They reach the kitchen and, for a moment, Steve expects Pepper to be there, but the room is empty. He sits down at the table and inhales deeply through his nose, enjoying the smell of fresh coffee that hangs in the air. He watches Tony move around the kitchen and not ten seconds later, he’s holding a steaming mug of black goodness. “Thanks,” He says before taking a careful sip, “So, can you tell me know what’s going on now?”

Tony nods. He sits down beside Steve and pulls a bundle of papers closer toward him. There are always papers lying around so Steve doesn’t think too much of it, but Tony reveals a copy of People Magazine and that’s not exactly the kind of literature he expects Tony to read.

“I don’t know how to tell you exactly, so maybe it’s better if you just see for yourself,” He says.

Something heavy falls on Steve’s chest – like a big, sharp rock. Breathing gets difficult and his heart races within his chest. He doesn’t know what Tony is talking about, but he looks … worried and apologetic, and he doesn’t understand.

Slowly his gaze falls down, to the magazine. The cover shows a picture of Hugh Jackman smiling along with titles of various articles that are inside. Steve sees nothing of interest as he scans the titles – Miley Cyrus’ next scandal, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s marriage, Ryan Gosling and Eva Mendes’ baby – but then his eye catches a familiar name in the left corner, all the way at the bottom. It’s small, but it’s there. _‘Tony Stark and his new boyfriend – get to know Steve Rogers’_.

The stone in his chest drops to his stomach, making him feel sick. With trembling hands, he opens the magazine to page thirty one and sees the picture that had already been published in the New York Times. He doesn’t care about the picture, though. No, his eyes scan the text next to photo. It covers more than half a page.

Steve swallows away the bile that rises in his throat. The article starts with describing the cocktail party Justin Hammer threw, but then it moves on to how Tony Stark took his new boyfriend to the event – a boyfriend with a ‘special erotic lifestyle’ as the magazine puts it. He reads about himself and the worst part is that it’s all true. He reads about how he likes to submit and how he enjoys following orders. He reads about the kind of toys he likes. He even reads about his safe word. And it is _all_ true. The article ends with the focus having shifted to Tony. It talks about how Tony Stark is apparently a true alpha male in this society and then a psychologist talks about how it’s not a surprise Tony Stark enjoys having a boyfriend like that. As if their sex-life is the only reason they’re together. It’s disgusting.

“Do you know who could have talked to someone who likes to pretend to be a journalist?” Tony asks. He sounds empathic, yet there is a sharp edge to his voice. He clearly doesn’t like what’s in the magazine either.

“I–” Of course he knows who spilled all his secrets, but he can’t tell Tony. It would lead to questions of motive and Steve just can’t tell him those yet. Bucky’s words echo through his mind. _‘_ _Tony Stark is a public figure and you are very much not. You can’t handle such a life.’_

Tony places a hand to his arm – and Steve jumps. He throws the magazine aside, uncaring of where it lands, and moves away from the table. Tony moves behind him, approaching him, but the idea of Tony close … “Don’t touch me,” He shrieks when he feels Tony’s hand on his shoulder, and panic laces his voice. He feels dirty and stained. He feels all wrong. The stone inside of him is ripping him apart from the inside out.

“Steve–”

“I have to go,” Is all Steve gets out. He can’t breathe and tears are threatening to escape the corners of his eyes. Whatever confidence that he’s been building these past few weeks, it has shattered. There’s nothing left.

“Don’t go,” Tony tries. He walks around the table, toward Steve. “Talk to me. Come on, Steve, don’t leave like this. Please.”

He can’t. He just … can’t. So he flees from the penthouse, grabbing his coat on his way out, and hurries into the elevator. He hits the button so hard he thinks he’ll break it, but he doesn’t care. The doors close and the last thing he sees is Tony inside the penthouse, staring at him with a heartbroken expression on his face, and all Steve can do is close his eyes.

Bucky was right. He can’t handle this.


	5. The Aftermath

Steve keeps his gaze firmly trained on the ground as he makes his way up the floor to where his office is at. His heart hasn’t stopped racing since he saw the article and his hands haven’t stopped shaking. His chest hurts; every breath he takes feels sharp and uncomfortable. And because luck is so obviously on his side, the bullpen is already buzzing with people by the time he arrives.

They all stare at him – Steve is convinced of it. He didn’t want to go to work, didn’t want to face all those judging eyes of his colleagues, but he couldn’t call in sick either. Everyone would know that he’s not really sick and then what would they think? Not only would they judge him that much more the next time he arrived, but they would probably laugh at him even more so. So he shows up at work thirty minutes late and hurries to his office, trying to ignore all the eyes that shift toward him as he passes them by. Did everyone read the article?

The moment he steps into his office, he quickly closes the door behind him and leans back against it, inhaling deeply and trying to calm down. It’s difficult, though. He feels like he can’t get enough air into his lungs and his legs are still shaking. He moves to the chair behind his desk and sits down, not bothering to take off his coat. At this rate, he thinks, he’ll be home before noon anyway.

There are two knocks on his door, but Steve doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to see anyone, but the door opens anyway and Clint enters. In the past, when he wanted to be left alone, Clint was the exception to that rule. Clint could always come in and he would feel relief, because even after whatever shit had happened, he could talk to Clint about it – and that shit always involved Bucky. But today, Steve can’t bear the thought of having to face Clint, despite the fact that he already knew everything before the article was published.

“I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show up today,” Clint says, pulling back the chair on the opposite side of the desk and dropping down on it. He leans back, looking relaxed and casual as he folds his hands on top of his stomach and swings a leg up so it rests on the corner of the desk.

Steve doesn’t bother telling him off for it – he usually hates it when Clint uses his desk like that, but today, it’s insignificant. He simply lowers his head until it rest on his arms that are crossed before him and lying on the desk. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” He mutters, hoping that Clint will take a hint and leave him alone. He considers staying at the office until everyone else has left, but that means he’d have to stay until at least nine o’clock this evening and that’s not exactly an encouraging thought either.

“I burned every copy of People Magazine I came across,” Clint says, like Steve hasn’t said anything at all, “And I sent out a memo to everyone here in the building that if they so much as mention what’s in it, I will personally make their lives a living hell.”

His hands become tight fists. He picks up his head and glares at Clint – Clint who merely stares back at him, one eyebrow quirked upward in surprise. “Can you _not_ mock me?” He asks sharply, accusingly.

“I’m not mocking you,” Clint says, shaking his head a little, and somehow he looks genuinely offended which Steve hadn’t expected, “I thought you’d know me better than that by now.” He straightens up, drops his leg again, and with his elbows resting on the smooth surface of Steve’s desk, he leans forward a bit. “Not everyone’s your enemy, Steve, least of all me.”

Steve sighs. He runs his hands through his hair and grips it tightly for a second. It hurts, but he doesn’t care. This is all too much and he has no control over anything whatsoever. It’s infuriating. He buries his face in his hands, wanting to be home – crawl into bed and not come out until the next century. He’s sure people will have forgotten all about the article by then. “I’m sorry,” He says after a short silence, “I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but now look where I’m at.”

“And where are you at?”

“I shouldn’t have filed for that restraining order,” He blurts out. He drops his hands and looks at Clint, easily spotting the disagreement in his vibrant-colored eyes, but this time, he’s the one not done speaking so he doesn’t give Clint the chance to list off all the reasons why the restraining order _was_ the right thing to do. “This is Bucky’s punishment. I tried pushing him out of my life so he wants to prove that this new life I’m trying to build is all wrong for me. And you know what, Clint, he’s right.”

“No,” Clint says vehemently, “No, no, no, no, no.”

“I can’t handle a public life,” Steve argues. He hates that tears are threatening to escape him for a second time this day, but he doesn’t bother hiding them. This is Clint after all; the guy has seen him cry before. “I can’t handle having every detail of my life published in the New York Times or in People Magazine.”

“You’re letting him win,” Clint says.

“He’s right,” Steve repeats, shaking his head all the while trying to get his breathing under control, because if he keeps up this pace, he’s sure he’ll be hyperventilating in a few minutes. God, he feels like that tiny, scrawny kid from high school again – weak and pathetic. “Tony might be used to it, but I’m not, and I don’t want to _get_ used to it.”

“And what does Tony think about all this?”

The question takes him off guard. He parts his lips to reply, only to find that he’s lost for words. He doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“Steve?”

“I don’t know,” He replies honestly, “I didn’t exactly give him the chance to express his feelings toward the article.”

Clint stares at him, confusion obvious in his eyes.

“He woke me up,” He starts, hoping to explain the situation to him, “And he showed me the magazine and I freaked out, but really, who wouldn’t freak out in my place? No one wakes up expecting every detail of their sex life smeared out in a celebrity news magazine. I’m not even a celebrity, but everyone finds it interesting because I’m dating Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries.”

Clint nods and waves a hand, encouraging Steve to keep talking.

“So I sat there, at the kitchen table,” Steve says, sighing, his gaze falling to his hands that are now lying motionless in his lap, “Staring at a picture of myself with all that information summed up so neatly on half a page. And I panicked. I left.”

“You left?” Clint echoes.

“I didn’t know what to do,” He says, “I’ve never felt so humiliated before in my life, Clint. I just … I needed to get out. I needed air and space. So I got up and I left. Tony asked me not to, he asked me not to leave like that, but …” He can’t finish the sentence. He presses his lips together and swallows away all the fear and anxiety that threatens to crush him.

There is a short silence, and Steve can feel Clint’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet it.

“I’m cancelling our lunch plans.”

It comes so unexpectedly, so out of the blue, that Steve looks up, surprised. “What?”

“I’m cancelling our lunch plans,” Clint repeats, “Because when I walk out of this office – I do have some work to do, as do you – I want you to pick up that phone and call Tony. I want you to meet him for lunch and clear up this mess that Bucky made.”

“Are you really telling me what to do?” Steve can’t help but ask.

Clint grins. “I thought you liked that.”

Steve’s eyes widen – Did he really just say that? – and he picks up the nearest object, which happens to be a stapler, and throws it at Clint’s face. Clint, always having been a man with unnaturally good reflexes, catches it before it hits him in the face. “You said you weren’t making fun of me.”

“I lied,” Clint says, laughing, and it’s such a genuinely warm sound that it helps Steve relax, “But seriously, call him and meet him for lunch. God knows what the guy is thinking right now, and I refuse to sit back and watch Bucky ruin your relationship with Tony, because that’s exactly what he’s aiming for.”

Steve nods. Clint has a point after all. “I’ll call him,” He says. He’s calm again. He doesn’t feel like the weight of the world is crushing him anymore, so perhaps he _can_ survive today. He has to, if only to show Bucky that he’s stronger than he thinks.

“Fantastic,” Clint smiles radiantly, “Don’t let Bucky screw this up. I wrote you down with a plus one for the wedding after all.”

“I never told you I was bringing Tony.”

“I assumed, sue me,” Clint says, standing. “Tell Tony he’s invited to my wedding. He’s already included in the seating chart so if he doesn’t come, he’ll mess everything up and he’ll piss off Natasha. Tell him it’s unwise to piss her off before they’ve even met.”

Steve is smiling along with Clint now. “I’ll tell him,” He says, leaning back into his chair, looking up at Clint, “Thanks for talking some sense into me.”

“No problem,” Clint replies, “Now pick up the phone. Mail me afterwards.”

Steve nods, and then he’s all alone in his office. He stares at the closed door for a moment, thinking about everything Clint hadsaid, and then his gaze shifts toward the pocket of his coat where he knows his cell-phone’s at. He stares at it for a moment, too. He wants to call Tony, he really does, but the longer he thinks about it, the more he hesitates, because what is he supposed to say?

He’s over-thinking it again, so he stops himself. He grabs his cell-phone from the pocket of the coat he’s still wearing and, after shrugging it off and hanging it over the edge of his desk chair, he scrolls through his contact list until he gets to the letter T. His thumb hovers over the call button, and Steve tries to come up with the right words, but when he fails, he decides to fuck it all, and he presses the button.

It rings only two times before he hears a familiar voice that makes something twist and curl in the pit of his stomach, a sensation that tickles him and makes him smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” He replies, his voice soft, “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Of course you’re not,” Tony says, and he sounds cheerful and delighted, and even over the phone it’s remarkably contagious, “I’m in the labs, slaving away over some mathematical equations, so really, you’re saving me.”

Steve smiles, knowing full well that Tony can’t see him, but he can’t help it. “I’m sorry about leaving so suddenly this morning,” He says after a short silence during which he listened to Tony’s breathing on the other end of the line. It’s soothing.

“Hey, no, no worries,” Tony is talking a bit too fast to sound casual, but there’s mostly relief in his voice, “It was one hell of a surprise. I shouldn’t have showed you three minutes after you woke up.”

He would have freaked at any time, but he doesn’t say that. It doesn’t matter. “I’m calling because Clint dumped me for lunch,” He says. He tried to go for casual, but somehow it came out forced, but perhaps Tony didn’t notice, because he’s chuckling softly. “You don’t happen to be free at twelve, are you?”

“I’m definitely free,” Tony replies, “I’ll come pick you up where you work?”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve says. He can’t stop smiling anymore, because for one brief moment, he feels free. He doesn’t worry about what the world thinks of him. He doesn’t care who reads that article. He’s going to meet Tony for lunch and they’ll be okay, and that’s all that matters.

The phone call ends and Steve stares at the small device again, much like he did just a few minutes earlier, only this time there is absolutely no anxiety involved. And after inhaling deeply, ready to start the day, he turns to his computer, starts it up, and opens a new mail. He tells Clint he’s meeting Tony for lunch, and then he gets to work.

-x-x-x-

Tony is waiting for him when he exits the building, but that’s not why he stops dead in his tracks. No, the fact that he’s leaning against a black limousine is what makes him do a double take. Steve can’t help but look around, like he’s missing something, an important detail, but no, when he focuses back on Tony, he finds that the man is looking at him, just him, with a smile so broad that it threatens to break his face in half.

“What’s this?” He asks when he’s close enough for Tony to hear him. People walking by are staring, and he’s really had enough of people staring at him today. He still feels his face flush red whenever he catches someone’s gaze because he knows what they’re thinking. He knows they’ve read the article.

“Surprise!” Tony smiles happily. He pushes himself away from the limousine and spreads his arms, like the fact that he’s standing in front of a goddamn limousine needs extra attention. “I wanted to do something special after what happened this morning.”

“So you’ve come to pick me up with the fanciest car you could think of?” Steve asks. He can’t help the way his voice sounds sharp and he feels like he’s balancing on the thin edge of a knife. If he falls on the wrong side, he knows he’ll experience a full on panic attack. The more he looks around, the more he notices people staring at them, and he feels so peculiarly small underneath their scrutinizing eyes. He’s threatening to fall on the wrong side, his heart racing within his chest, his hands shaking. “We’re just going out for lunch, isn’t this a bit much?” He asks, trying to stay calm.

Tony seems surprised by Steve’s reaction. Then he shrugs and drops his arms. “You don’t like it,” He says, like that needs to be pointed out.

Of course he doesn’t like it! He takes two small steps forward and keeps his eyes on Tony. He needs to learn to ignore people around him because he’s pretty sure this won’t be the last time he’ll be at the center of everyone’s attention. Still, this particular situation could have been avoided. He would have given anything for the chance to slip out of the building and into an inconspicuous car.

“I hate it,” He says after a short silence – which isn’t actual silence since they’re in the middle of New York and a dozen people are walking by. Still, it feels like silence to him, and it’s becoming awkward and unbearable. He’s spent the day ignoring all the people around him, trying to avoid eye-contact or, God forbid, making small talk, and now Tony shows up with the one car that’s bound to draw everyone’s attention? For being a genius, Tony really made a stupid decision. “Why on earth did you think I would like it?”

Tony moves back to lean against the side of the car, near the passenger’s door, and buries his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Leave it to Tony to show up with a limousine, yet wear nothing more than regular jeans, a Black Sabbath T-shirt, and a pair of bleached sneakers. And it’s not even April yet. The guy must be freezing.

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking,” He says softly, disappointed, “Sorry.”

Steve waits for a second, taking in Tony’s features, and for what seems to be the first time, sharp lines cover his face. They make him look older than he is, or maybe he just never truly realized the age difference between them, but none of it matters. What matters is that he hates being the one that makes Tony look like that – older and discouraged.

“You don’t have to try and impress everyone, Tony,” He says as he closes the distance between them. He’s fully aware people are still staring – really, when are they going to stop? – and he ignores the thought that someone might take a picture at any given moment now. In any case, it would be a hundred times better to have that picture in People Magazine instead of another spread on his sex-life. He shakes away all those thoughts and instead focuses completely on Tony. That always seems to help when he feels like the weight of the world is about to crush him, and when Tony’s dark eyes meet his light blue ones, he instantly feels like he can breathe more easily.

“I’m just trying to impress _you_ ,” Tony smiles sadly. This really hasn’t been their day.

Steve places a hand on the side of Tony’s face, needing him to keep gazing into his eyes before he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Well, stop it,” He says as he moves to open the passenger’s seat door, “Now how about that lunch? I’m starving.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, instantly brighter and happier. He steps into the limousine as soon as Steve is seated, “About that …”

Steve groans, but he can’t help the smile that’s curving the edges of his lips upward. “What did you do?”

Tony grins, but never actually answers the question, which leaves Steve feeling anxious as the driver – Happy probably, but he can’t tell with the dark-tinted window separating them – guides them through the city. He tries to pry the answer from Tony’s lips, but the guy can hold a secret alright. He must have learned that from Loki.

They arrive at Tony’s building fifteen minutes later, and Steve inhales deeply to calm himself. There’s nothing to worry about after all. It’s just lunch and maybe Tony went out of his way again to make it special, but Steve decides to just be grateful. This is Tony trying to make him feel better after all and that’s really considerate of him.

They ride up to the highest floor with the elevator, and then Steve’s really confused because Tony isn’t taking him to his penthouse. No, Tony takes his hand and pulls him along a long corridor that ends with a staircase that leads up again. At the top is a door, and when Steve steps through it, still being pulled along by Tony, he feels a rush of cold air engulf him. That’s when he decides that he’s really had enough of surprises for one day, but there’s no denying that this last surprise really is quite … something.

Tony let’s go of his hand when Steve takes a step forward, breath trapped inside his lungs, only to halt, afraid that if he’d get too close, it will all disappear. He smiles when he realizes that he doesn’t want this to disappear. It’s grand and it’s too much, but it’s … perfect. He takes in his surroundings.

“God, Tony,” He sighs. It’s a good sigh, a happy sigh.

“I went a bit nuts with it, I know,” Tony says. He’s standing right beside him again, his hand seeking Steve’s, and Steve eagerly takes it and squeezes it, needing Tony to be close, because this is all real and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe it will all be thrown into his face at a later point, but those are negative thoughts and he decides to ban those from his life. They lead nowhere. “When I got your call this morning,” Tony adds after a moment of silence, “I was so relieved, and I really wanted to do something special, so …”

It was special alright. They’re on top of the roof of Tony’s building which gives them a clear view of the New York skyline. There are flowers everywhere, covering every inch of the ground, and in between them are candle lights. A few have been blown out by the wind, but most are protected by the flowers around them. It’s an explosion of color.

In the middle of the roof lies a blanket with a picnic basket on top of it. Steve can’t see what’s inside, but he can make an educated guess and he’s already thinking of ways to tell Tony that this is way too much. There are pillows lying beside the basket and two extra blankets to protect them from the cold.

Tony walks toward the blanket, pulling Steve along with him since he’s still taking in his surroundings and has forgotten how to move on his own accord. “Some credit goes to Pepper,” He says as he sits down. Steve follows his example and watches as Tony takes hold of a blanket and places it around his shoulders. Steve sends him thankful look. Then Tony takes a bottle of what looks to be expensive champagne from the picnic basket. “I couldn’t have pulled this off without her,” He continues, “She warned me it was a bit much, but you know me, I never listen to her.”

“You should have listened to her,” Steve says. He thankfully accepts the glass of bubbles and moans when he tastes it. It’s definitely not the cheap stuff, so he decides to savor the taste, to enjoy it, because the bottle has been opened and it would be a shame to take no pleasure in it. Besides, he’s with Tony, surrounded by dozens of different flowers and candles, and he feels grateful for what he’s trying to do.

“Thank you,” He says, voicing his thoughts.

Tony waves his words away.

“I mean it,” He pushes on, because there’s no way in hell he’s just going to accept these surprises without a thank you. He’s not unthankful and he definitely doesn’t want to take Tony’s actions for granted. He doesn’t want to take _Tony_ for granted. “I freaked out this morning and I ran away and I shouldn’t have. I should have stayed and talked about it with you, but I didn’t, and then you do–” He looks around and sucks in a deep breath, realizing there isn’t a word to describe all … “–this.”

“You had a good reason to run,” Tony says. He shuffles a little closer to Steve. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. I’m just happy that you called me.”

“You should thank Clint for that,” Steve smiles. He doesn’t know how Tony does it, but the guy has a calming effect on him. Steve doesn’t know how he survived before he met him. Then again, before he met him, he spent his days mostly terrified of walking into Bucky.

He closes his eyes for a second, concentrating on his breathing, and forcing all thoughts of his ex from his mind. It goes surprisingly easy, what with Tony beside him, and when he opens his eyes, he finds Tony looking at him with nothing but adoration in his gaze. Steve feels his cheeks flush. “Don’t stare at me,” He says, “It does things to me.”

“Good things?” Tony asks cheekily.

“Definitely good things,” He replies. He takes another sip from his champagne before he remembers something Clint told him. He angles his body toward Tony and sets down his glass of champagne. “Are you free on May the sixteenth?” He asks, the words leaving him so fast that he nearly trips over them, but he needed to say them before he could think of half a dozen reasons notto.

Tony narrows his eyes a bit. “Jarvis?” He asks.

“ _You have a benefit, Sir._ ”

“Make a note to donate some money the week before,” Tony tells the AI. His gaze focuses on Steve again, a smile adorning his face. “I’m free.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re not free, Tony, and–“

“Jarvis?”

“ _All plans for May the sixteenth have been cancelled, Sir._ ”

“I’m as free as a beautiful butterfly, Rogers,” Tony grins.

Steve can’t utter a word for a moment because he’s smiling too much. “Okay,” He says after a while, knowing that arguing is pointless. He picks up his glass again and takes a sip. “What would you say if I asked you to be my date to Clint and Natasha’s wedding?”

If possible, Tony shuffles even closer to Steve. He takes his hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “I would love to escort you to their wedding,” He says. His hand moves to the side of Steve’s neck, his thumb rubbing circles against his pulse.

“Lovely,” Steve says, leaning into Tony’s touch, and then he’s kissing him. He sets his glass aside again and throws a leg over Tony’s lap, effectively straddling him. Tony’s hand doesn’t move away from his neck and his other, having put down his glass, too, grips his hip. His own hands run through Tony’s short hair, smoothing it back, tugging gently at it.

Tony moans into the kiss.

Steve feels Tony’s tongue trace the seam of his lower lip so he parts his lips, giving him entrance, and sucks at the tip of Tony’s tongue, tasting the champagne. Eventually they part, though, the need for air forcing them to, and Steve rests his forehead against Tony’s. “I need to get back to the office soon,” He breathes. He doesn’t know when it happened, but Tony’s hand has slipped underneath his coat and shirt, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of his abdomen. It tickles.

“Then we should eat something,” Tony replies. Steve reluctantly pulls away from him and settles down beside him again, their shoulders touching. “Let me come pick you up after work again.”

Steve looks up. “With a normal car?” He asks.

Tony chuckles, but Steve sends him a serious look, a warning. “With a normal car,” Tony says, raising his hands as if surrendering.

“Then yeah,” Steve smiles, “You can definitely come and pick me up at five.”

-x-x-x-

He’s shrugging on his coat as he steps into the elevator. It’s still ten minutes before five, but he figures he worked hard enough this afternoon to have earned those ten minutes. The thought that Tony would be waiting for him outside, it spurred him on and he finished all his work in a record tempo. Clint should be jealous – and speaking of the devil … Just before the doors slide shut, the man slips into the small cubicle, one hell of a smile on his face.

“You thought you could sneak off without me knowing?” He asks. He moves to stand next to Steve and looks up at him since he’s a little over two inches smaller than him. “Man, I thought we were friends.”

Steve rolls his eyes at Clint’s feigned hurt. “Is there a particular reason you’re bugging me?” He asks, lips quirked up in a smile, and it’s then he realizes that for such a sucky day, he’s been smiling an awful lot, “Or is this your revenge?”

“This is definitely my revenge,” Clint says, nodding once, curtly, “Also, I never did get that mail I’ve been waiting for so sorely all day. I was so lonely, Steve, I felt so abandoned. By my best friend. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? I’ve been sitting in my office, just staring at my inbox, but nothing came and–”

“Alright, I get your point,” Steve laughs. He turns to Clint and sighs, thinking that the man will be the death of him one day, if he ever does survive Tony … Just thinking about Tony makes a tightness form around his stomach, and he enjoys it. “I forgot to mail you, I’m sorry,” He says as the doors of the elevator glide open once they’re at ground level, “But I didn’t forget to ask Tony and he’s coming to your wedding.”

Clint slaps him on the back, hard enough for Steve to stumble. “You didn’t back out,” He says gleefully, “I’m actually proud. I didn’t know that this is what pride feels like.”

“Stop messing with me,” Steve warns, though there isn’t a hint of sincerity in his voice, “I’ve had to deal with enough people for a lifetime today, so don’t make me have to deal with you, too.”

“You know,” Clint starts, and the tone of his voice is suddenly so forthright that it makes Steve look at him, unsure of what to expect, “I think you’ve handled today beautifully. I mean, if my sex life was splattered out into some magazine, I bet people would have died, but you’re too kind for that.”

“Well, unlike you, I don’t actually enjoy the thought of killing people,” Steve smiles.

“I mean it, Steve,” Clint continues, the honesty in his voice remaining and catching Steve off guard, who is used to Clint cracking jokes. It makes him come to a halt, Clint doing the same and moving to stand in front of him. He no longer cares that it’s almost five o’clock and that people will soon swarm this place. “You might not be used to standing in the spotlight, but damn, you can handle it. Screw people; screw what they think about you, because who cares about them?”

“Thanks, I guess,” Steve replies.

They start walking again and as soon as they step outside, Steve is searching for him, his eyes scanning every face in the crowd until he finds his, and when he does, that tightness around his stomach returns and he revels at it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Clint,” He says, eyes solely fixed on Tony, who is waiting by a car, a normal car, and who is wearing sunglasses even though there’s hardly any sun out. It’s hidden behind grey clouds.

“Oh, fuck no,” Clint curses suddenly.

Steve turns back to him, confused, and then he follows his line of sight. The tightness around his stomach transforms into something vicious, hurting him, making him feel like his stomach is being torn apart by a blunt knife. Breathing becomes impossible suddenly as he watches Bucky hurry toward him, panic in his dark eyes, his hair a mess.

“Steve?” Bucky says loudly as he forces his way through the crowd.

“Get to Stark,” Clint tells him, his hand folding around Steve’s wrist to get his attention, but Steve can’t move and he can’t look away. His legs have stopped listening to his brain, which always seems to happen whenever Bucky is around, and he can’t help but take in the panicked state Bucky’s in. It scares him. “Steve, come on, walk away,” Clint tries, “Let me handle that asshole.”

Bucky is standing in front of him then, his brown eyes wide and familiar. They’re filled with sorrow and it’s a sight Steve has seen a hundred times before, one that has his knees feel weak, because damn, he can’t bear to look at Bucky when he looks this … broken. “Steve?” Bucky asks, his hands moving to rest against the sides of Steve’s neck, and Steve shudders at the touch. It, too, feels so very familiar. “Steve, baby, forgive me. I acted impulsively.”

“I–” He’s clueless about what he should say. A hundred thoughts race through his head, but none of them make sense and he’s convinced half of them aren’t even in English.

“Back off, Bucky,” Clint warns, shoving the man away. Steve swallows heavily when Bucky’s hands aren’t on him anymore, and he hates himself for feeling cold suddenly, he hates that it feels like he craves that warm touch again. “You’re violating your restraining order and don’t think I’ll hesitate to call the cops.”

“Steve …” Bucky says softly, completely ignoring Clint. His dark eyes shine with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”

He snaps out of it then, just because of those few small words. _I’m sorry_. How many times has he heard those by now? A hundred times? A thousand? And how many times did he believe them? Too many times, and he’s done believing Bucky now. He’s more than ready to leave him in the past. He wants to move on and forward, so without a word, he turns around, away from Bucky, and seeks Tony. The man is standing straight, his gaze wide and uncertain and focused on the scene playing out between Steve and Bucky, because of course he has no clue what’s going on, so, of course, he appears hesitant and doubtful.

Steve wants to walk toward him and be wrapped up in those big, strong arms that never hurt him before and that never will, he’s certain of it, but a hand grabs his wrist, holding him back. Steve hisses at the sudden sharp pain and turns just in time to see Clint’s fist pull back before propelling forward, hitting Bucky square in the face.

Bucky stumbles back, his hands shooting up to cover his injured nose, and for a split second, Steve watches blood drip down his lip, only to realize that he doesn’t care that Bucky’s hurt. Now that he’s free, he hurries toward Tony and without a word, he flings his arms around the man. A sigh of relief escapes him when Tony wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You okay?” Tony asks, his voice soft and close by.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, nodding even though Tony can’t actually see him. He can’t look behind him so he doesn’t know what’s happening between Bucky and Clint, but he knows it’s probably for the best that he can’t see it. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Sure,” Tony says. He lets go of Steve and opens the car door.

Steve hurries inside the vehicle before he succumbs to his curiosity and looks behind him. He watches Bucky and Clint shout at each other and he sees people moving out of their way, and when Bucky’s dark eyes settle on the car, Steve lowers himself in his seat and buries his face in his hands. Not even when he feels the car move, Tony driving them away, does he dare to look up.

“So,” Tony starts cautiously after a few minutes of gruesome silence, “What was that all about?”

“You think that will be in the newspaper tomorrow?” Steve asks with a peculiarly small voice. He wishes he felt strong and confident like he did just a few hours ago. He wishes he could take Clint’s words to heart and not care about what anyone thinks of him, but the truth is that he _does_ care and he’s never been so humiliated before in his life. It’s just been one long day of humiliation.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony says. His hand moves to Steve’s knee, resting there. “It was quite the spectacle. Was that Clint throwing a punch, the guy who’s getting married?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. He drops his hands and holds Tony’s that’s resting on his knee. It comforts him to know that he’s with him, that he can touch him, and it comforts him to know that the guy saw that atrocity and didn’t run the other way – or jump in the car and drive off. He turns his head and looks at Tony who can’t look back, not while guiding them through the hell-traffic that’s currently going on since it’s a bit after five and everyone’s wants to go home. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” He says.

“You don’t have to apologize for someone else’s behavior,” Tony replies. He shoots Steve a quick smile before focusing on the road again. With the all the turns they have to do, he needs both his hands, too, and Steve hates that he loses the contact between them. And then he remembers the fact that he hated losing Bucky’s touch, and then he hates himself.

Really, he just wants to disappear from the world. He wants to curl up and vanish, but since he doesn’t have any luck today, that’s out of the question. He’ll settle for going home and eating pizza until he feels physically sick and watch some horrible program on TV and not do anything. He’s not sure if he wants to do all that with Tony around.

Because screw it, he wants to sulk and brood and stew in his own misery and self-hatred, because what the hell was he thinking? He can never be free of Bucky.

“Maybe you should drive me home,” He says quietly. He’s not sure Tony heard him.

They make a left turn, during which the silence drags on, and Steve parts his lips to repeat his words, but Tony speaks first. “I thought I _was_ driving you home,” He says so calmly that it makes Steve glance up at him again from underneath his eyelashes. They’re still driving to the Stark Building. “You don’t have to talk about what happened, Steve.”

Steve smiles, just a little. “You’re not going to demand any answers?” He asks with disbelief in his voice. “You’re not going to ask me who that man was that Clint punched?”

“I’m not the least concerned about Clint. He looks tough enough to handle a fight,” Tony says, “No, I’m concerned about you. I saw that man grab your wrist and sure, I’m deathly curious what that was all about, but if you don’t want to talk about it, then you don’t have to.”

Steve sits up a bit straighter and angles his body toward Tony. “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” He admits, “You’ve been nothing but thoughtful, but here I am, an idiot.”

Tony chuckles. “Why’s that?”

“Because I should have known this,” He explains, “I should have known you wouldn’t force me to say anything. Honestly, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You’re getting all sentimental on me, there are warning bells going off in my head,” Tony says, grinning. Then he turns sincere in the blink of an eye, and Steve doesn’t know how he does that. “We agreed to this, Steve, remember? At the cocktail party? We don’t care about the past; we care about the future, or something along those lines. It’s been a while.”

Steve nods and gazes at his hands lying folded in his lap. “But what if the past haunts you?”

A few seconds pass by. “I’m not really the best guy to ask such deep questions, Steve,” Tony says, a sigh at the end of his words, “All I’ve been doing in my life is running. When things get too weird or too serious or too emotionally dangerous, I’m running the other way, you can ask Pepper, but with you, for the first time, I’m staying put no matter how much that scares me. So I’m not going to let Clint punching a guy in the face change that.”

“His name is Bucky,” Steve says without thinking too much about what exactly he’s saying. He keeps his eyes down, gaze focused on his folded hands. Tony’s hand moves to cover his, and he tenses, only for Tony’s thumb to rub soothing circles into the top of his right hand which helps him keep his thoughts in order. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.” There, he said it.

“And he’s the past haunting you,” Tony replies, obviously checking to see if he got that right.

Steve nods.

Tony parks the car in front of his building, but they don’t exit just yet.

“Before you, there was only ever one guy,” Steve starts to say, unsure if he’s making the right decision, but he’s talking so he might as well continue, “I thought Bucky and I were it, you know? But then … we broke up like so many couples did, only Bucky didn’t agree, and ever since, he’s been doing his best to convince me to change my mind.”

Tony uses both his hands to lift Steve’s and he presses a kiss to his knuckles. Steve wasn’t aware that he was balling his fists so tightly, and he tries to stop, but it’s harder than he thought it would be.

“And have you changed your mind?” Tony asks softly.

“God no,” Steve says without having to think about that answer.

“Then that’s all that matters, I think,” Tony answers, flashing Steve his famous confident grin, “Now why don’t we forget about this Bucky guy, why don’t we forget about this entire day, and go up to the penthouse and order some Thai or something? You’re probably starving. I’m starving. ”

Steve inhales sharply and forces himself to relax. “That sounds good,” He says, feeling better. A bit.

“Great,” Tony says enthusiastically, “Let’s go!”

-x-x-x-

They spend an hour deciding on what to eat and then another hour waiting for the food to actually arrive. Steve can’t help but laugh when Tony tells Jarvis to scratch that place from the records, only to come back on his decision when he tastes the food, ‘cause really, it’s delicious and definitely worth the wait. Then there’s a battle for the remote control of the TV, only for Tony to decide that there isn’t actually anything worth watching so he puts on an episode of Family Guy. Steve promised to give it a try, never having seen a minute of that show, only to end up being distracted by his phone.

He ends up calling Clint, needing to hear him, because he never did see how the fiasco with Bucky ended. For all he knows, Bucky went crazy and hurt Clint, and he can’t spend the rest of the evening entertaining thoughts of Clint in the hospital somewhere while Natasha stalks Bucky through the night with a vow of murder. Turns out Clint is totally fine, though. Bucky walked away as soon as he and Tony drove off, which should be a relief, but Steve feels bad for leaving his best friend in the first place. He feels like a coward. It seems ages ago since he stood up against Bucky and told him to move on.

“I can hear you think,” Tony says suddenly, pulling Steve from his thoughts. He doesn’t know how the guy was on to him, only to realize that his call with Clint ended over ten minutes ago and he’s still staring at his phone, the screen long dark. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Tony asks, shutting off the TV before turning toward Steve, one arm hanging over the edge of the couch.

“Nothing,” Steve lies, only to decide that he hates lying, “Well, a lot really, but I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Tony asks.

Steve lets himself drop sideways, his head resting against Tony’s chest. He listens to his heartbeat for a few seconds and focuses on Tony’s hand running up and down his thigh. “I don’t want to ruin your evening,” He says eventually.

“You’re here, my evening couldn’t possibly be ruined,” Tony says, “Unless Pepper decides to drop by and, God forbid, give me work.” Steve smiles, knowing full well that Tony can’t actually see his face. “Jarvis, lock down the elevator. I don’t want any visitors tonight.”

“ _Yes, Sir_.”

Tony’s hand moves from Steve’s thigh to his short, blond hair, smoothing it back, and Steve leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. His own hand trails up and down Tony’s chest. “Are you done watching Family Guy?” He asks, his smile still very much in place.

“Why?” Tony asks, his voice too innocent, and Steve knows Tony can read a clue when there is one, “Do you have other plans in mind?”

Steve opens his eyes and pushes himself away from Tony. The fact that Tony is watching him with big, interested eyes, makes him feel stronger again, like perhaps today hasn’t broken him at all. He stands up and gingerly unbuttons his light blue shirt, exposing inch after inch of his chest and stomach. “I’ve been having a really awful day,” He says slowly, his voice low, “Like, _really_ awful, Tony. I could use a distraction until this godforsaken day is finally over.”

Tony hums, the edges of his lips quirking upward ever so slightly, and nods. “I can definitely help you with that.”


	6. The Safeword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With some delay, the new chapter. Sorry you had to wait so long!

Tony strips him of his clothes as they make their way to his bedroom, his hands tearing at the fabric of his shirt even though it’s already completely unbuttoned. Steve inhales sharply every time he feels Tony’s hands on him. It feels like electricity. He stumbles when Tony moves to his trousers, eagerly unzipping them and pushing them down his hips. Steve doesn’t even care that he’s the only one being undressed. All he cares about is the fact that Tony’s hands are on his body and that his tongue is seemingly trying to explore every inch of his mouth.

He moans loudly.

Tony turns them around, pulling Steve along with him, and kicks open the bedroom door. He pulls Steve inside, and they separate for a few agonizingly long seconds, the need for air becoming too much. Steve feels like his inside are on fire, heat spreading through his body, fueling his actions. He grabs Tony’s shirt and pulls it over his head, laughing at how Tony’s hair becomes a mess. He watches hungrily as Tony makes work of his jeans, and he bites down on his bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood.

Tony’s body ripples with muscles as he kicks his shoes aside and steps out of his jeans. The guy isn’t wearing underwear, and Steve starts to doubt Tony even owns any, but his thoughts are soon diverted when Tony stands up, his back straight, his entire posture screaming confidence. And God, it’s attractive. Steve doesn’t care that he’s taking in Tony’s body so blatantly, without shame. No, he lets his eyes rake Tony’s body, starting at the bottom and working his way up those long, muscles legs. He shudders when he sees Tony’s cock jutting up already, the head red and swollen.

“I want you–” Tony starts, already out of breath, his eyes so dark they appear black, and Steve’s heart skips a beat knowing that he is the one to have that effect on him, “–on our bed, on your hands and knees.”

A chill runs down Steve’s body at the order and he instantly obeys, crawling on top of the bed that’s covered with silk sheets, and he sets his knees apart a bit. His hands ball into the pillow below, needing it to steady himself. He fights the urge to glance over his shoulder and look at Tony, no matter how much he wants to know what’s going on behind him.

“Hold onto the headboard,” Tony says, the excitement and arousal so obvious in his voice. It makes Steve smile.

He does as he’s told and closes his eyes, focusing on what he can hear instead of what he can see. Tony is walking around the bed, his footsteps light yet fast, and Steve can just imagine how the man is looking at him right now, hunger in his gaze. He can hear his breathing, too, hard and fast and entirely uncontrolled. Steve’s smile grows, and slowly, so very slowly, he begins to feel in his element again, like he’s been shattered into a thousand pieces today, but he finally building himself up again.

Tony slips a hand over his back, and Steve sucks in a faltering breath. He exhales slowly a moment later, needing some control over the situation back, and most of all, needing to stay in control of himself. Tony’s fingers trail over his shoulder blade so very gingerly, then across his collarbone, and eventually up the side of his neck. Steve knows Tony can feel the racing of his pulse beneath the tips of his fingers, and it excites him.

“You’re going to stay like this for me, understood?” Tony asks, though it isn’t a question, it’s a command, and to add strength to his words, his curls his fingers into Steve’s hair and pulls at it, forcing Steve to look up at him.

Steve nods to the best of his abilities, all the while trying to get his breathing under control – he’s failing miserably, but he supposes that’s okay – and when Tony let’s go of his hair, he lets his head drop down. His fingers tighten around the edge of the headboard, his knuckles turning white. They aren’t actually doing anything yet and the wait is killing him.

A hand smacks his ass, and Steve gasps in surprise.

“Understood?” Tony asks.

“Yes, Sir,” Steve replies without having to think of his answer. His eyes open, and Steve sees his own length hang heavily between his legs, completely ignored, and he moves a little, the tip of his cock brushing against his inner thigh. He moans at the feeling, only to hiss a second later when Tony’s hand smacks his ass a second time. “Sorry, sorry, no moving – got it, Sir.”

“That’s better,” Tony says, sounding smug. His hand is now caressing the same spot he just hit twice.

Steve can’t see it, but he knows it has to be flaming red, and the thought alone has him moan. His cock twitches between his legs, but he doesn’t act on it, no matter how much he wants to. The release he’ll get afterward will be that much better, and really, he doesn’t want to get punished again. No, what he wants is Tony’s undivided attention and appreciation, which he has now and which he wants to keep for as long as possible.

A finger slips up the inner side of his leg, up an up until it brushes past the tip of his hard cock and across his balls. Steve can’t refrain himself from making a smothered sound, but he assumes that’s allowed because Tony doesn’t stop, his finger moving further up until he reaches Steve’s hole, pressing against it. He makes another sound, louder this time, and he can’t help but push his hips back.

His right hand slips from the headboard.

“I thought I told you not to move?” Tony asks, his finger no longer rubbing Steve’s puckered hole.

Steve groans and waits for the inevitable slap, and when it comes, he thinks he’s about to cum then and there, which would be a real shame since he doesn’t want the night to end so fast, no matter how big his need for pleasure and distraction is at the moment. He wants Tony’s attention and appraisal more than he needs an orgasm.

“Sorry,” He gasps as he grabs the headboard again, nails digging into the wood so hard that it hurts, but he doesn’t care. It grounds him in the moment.

“Good,” Tony says, and Steve doesn’t need to see him to know there’s a smile on his face. Tony leans forward and presses kisses along Steve’s spine, each one planted with such precision and care that it leaves Steve going wild. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He only knows that he’s giving himself to Tony, completely, and it feels good. It feels right.

Tony’s finger returns to circle Steve’s dry hole, and he takes his time, the seconds ticking by agonizingly slowly, driving Steve insane, and when that finger finally breaches him, only a little, Steve drops his head to the pillow below him, his hands slipping from the wood again.

“Oh, God,” He groans.

The finger disappears. “You’re making this awfully hard on yourself, Steve,” Tony says, sighing, “I thought the order was simple.”

“It is, it is,” Steve blurts out, quickly putting his hands back in place while reminding himself over and over that he needs to stay up on his knees, no matter how hard it is or how much his legs are trembling with the energy coursing through his body. “I just …” His thoughts are racing and he can’t keep up with them, so without thinking, he says, “I need help.”

“What’s that, baby?” Tony asks, voice smooth and soft. He’s leaning over Steve, his knees right next to his, his torso pressed against Steve’s back. Steve can’t think when he feels the racing of Tony’s hear and when he feels a thin layer of sweat already covering him, filling the room with the unmistakable scent of sex.

“Just tie me to the headboard,” He says, the words rushing from his lips. He closes his eyes and shifts on his knees, searching for Tony’s touch, craving it as much as he craves air right now. “Fuck, Tony, just do something!”

There is a short silence, and Steve feels like he’s losing his mind. What’s taking Tony so long?

“You sure?” Tony asks suddenly, apprehensive. Doubtful.

Steve doesn’t understand the sudden change in attitude and he decides to ignore it. “Yes,” He breathes. He moves his hands closer together and waits for Tony to find something he can use to bind his hands together.

Tony settles on ripping a piece from his expensive, silk sheets, and Steve makes a mental note to tell Tony off for that in the morning, but right now, right this instance, he can’t care less about what Tony wrecks for him. He needs Tony to touch him again, needs his lips on his skin and his hands on his hips. He just wants to be fucked.

He swallows back a few words when he watches Tony wrap a long piece of silk around his wrists and tie it around the headboard. It’s a strange sight, yet a familiar one, too, and Steve takes a moment to get used to the feeling of his hands being tied together. All the while, he forces himself to stay quiet while he really wants to tell Tony to hurry up alright.

“You have no idea what a sight you are right now,” Tony says once he’s done with the knot. He steps back to admire his work for a moment, to take in Steve on his bed, on his knees, his hands tied to the headboard to keep them in place, and it drives Steve absolutely insane.

“Tony, _please_ ,” He says, and truly, he can’t believe he’s begging already while they aren’t even fifteen minutes in. Whatever. He needs this. He needs to forget about today and just feel good for a few moments. Tony can help him with that, but instead the guy is standing there, looking at him. It makes Steve’s skin crawl, in a good way, but in such an agonizing way, too.

“You sound desperate, baby,” Tony says, grinning, “And I’m not going to torture you.” He moves back onto the bed, and Steve picks up his head, needing to see what’s going on. He watches Tony settle behind him, his hands resting against his bare hips, like he wanted them to, steadying him, and then Tony bends forward, the tips of his tongue flicking out and running down his hole.

The words that leave Steve’s mouth should be illegal, and he gets smacked for it again, but he can’t help it. The feeling of Tony’s tongue pleasuring him is heavenly and he wants more. God, he _needs_ more! He pushes his hips back, uncaring if he’ll get smacked for it again, only Tony doesn’t hit him. No, the man obliges and pushes his tongue past the tight ring of muscle guarding Steve’s ass.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” Steve mutters. He’s shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut so hard he’s seeing an explosion of stars, and he tugs at his wrists. It takes all of his willpower to stay in place as Tony fucks him with his tongue. He doesn’t even care anymore that his cock is hanging between his legs, forgotten, because by this rate, he’ll cum in moments anyway, and perhaps that’s exactly what Tony wants, the bastard, that enormous, gigantic, fantastic bastard.

He tugs at his wrists again by force of habit, and moans Tony’s name loudly, willing him to go deeper. Then he tugs at his wrists again. And again. His eyes snap open when he realizes that he couldn’t get free if he wanted to. His heart starts to race even faster and his chest feels painfully tight, his lungs unable to take in enough oxygen, and this time, it’s an entirely unpleasant feeling.

He can’t breathe.

Tony must have sensed the shift in Steve’s behavior. He straightens up, hands remaining on his hips. “Steve?” He asks, shifting sideways so he can look at Steve’s face.

Steve pulls so hard at his hands that he can feel bruises forming around his wrists. He’s an idiot. What person puts himself in a situation like this? That’s right, a fool.

“No, no,” He stutters. His mind freezes, one image flashing before his eyes over and over. He no longer feels the silk around his wrists, he feels cold metal. He no longer feels Tony’s soft touch on his body anymore, he feels nails digging into his skin, making him bleed.

“Soldier,” He cries out, “Soldier!”

“Steve, stop,” Tony says. He’s sounding panicked, but Steve hardly hears it. He just hears his own labored breathing and the beating of his heart. And he hears _him_ , his deep voice screaming at him, cursing him, accusing him. “You’re hurting yourself, Steve, please stop.”

“Untie me,” Steve says, stammering out the words. He tries to sit back, desperate to get free now. He doesn’t even notice Tony’s fingers working swiftly to undo the knot he made just minutes ago. He only knows he’s free a few seconds later when he can move his hands freely, and without thinking, he jumps off of the bed, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

He stumbles to the door, unsure what he’s doing or why. He blinks, trying to get rid of the image of Bucky standing before him, rage in his dark eyes, only to snap back to Tony’s bedroom when he hears Tony’s frantic and terrified voice. “Steve, please.”

He stops and stares at the opened door in front of him. He should keep walking – he should get out of there and stop living a lie, because who is he kidding? Clint thinks he can do it, but Clint’s always been hopelessly optimistic. And Tony … Tony doesn’t even know him, not really. His gaze snaps sideways when Tony carefully walks around him, and his instincts scream at him to move, to run, but every muscle in his body has locked down.

The edges of his vision darken.

He flinches when Tony lifts his hands and he watches him put a silk sheet around him, carefully and gently. Tony moves to stand in front of him, his eyes wide and insecure, and Steve feels tears sting his eyes. He’s messing up _everything_ , but he can’t help it. He can’t break free from the memory of Bucky’s hands on him, hurting him.

“Steve,” Tony says ever so softly while he places one hand flat against his chest, “Breathe.”

He hasn’t been breathing. It explains why his vision is darkening rapidly and why his chest feels like it’s on fire. But he can’t, not even when he parts his lips. Tony slowly takes Steve’s face into his hands and leans forward until his forehead is resting against Steve’s. “Breathe,” He repeats, his voice remaining calm, and Steve knows what he’s trying to do, but it’s not helping, “Come on, Steve, breathe for me.”

Finally, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and he can feel his muscles relaxing a little. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on Tony’s hands on either side of his face, but it’s nearly impossible. Bucky’s voice is still echoing through his head, and he starts shaking his head, needing that voice to shut up. Bucky’s not here, he tells himself again and again, only Tony is – Tony who’s thumbs are running smoothing circles into his cheeks before running one over his lower lip.

“Are you with me again?” Tony asks after a long silence.

Steve is focusing on his breathing now, in and out, in and out, and even though he can hear Tony’s question, he can’t bring himself to answer. He’s afraid to make a single sound, afraid that he’ll somehow find himself trapped in his mind again, so he just nods. He’s grasping the silk sheet between his hands and he’s grateful Tony thought of covering him up. He feels safer for some stupid reason that he can’t uncover.

“Why don’t we lie down for a bit?” Tony proposes. His fingers don’t stop caressing every inch of his face, reminding him that he’s not alone or with Bucky. “Let’s catch our breaths and just … rest for a bit?”

God, this day needs to end already. Steve doesn’t say anything. He lets Tony guide him back to the bed and, after Tony moves to lie down and pulls the sheets over his naked body, Steve lies down beside him, curling up at his side, his head resting on top of Tony’s chest. He listens to Tony’s heartbeat, reminding him with every steady beat who he’s with. His eyes flutter shut when Tony trails his fingers through his hair.

Seconds tick by and Steve can feel his muscles relax. His breathing deepens, but he knows he won’t get a lot of sleep tonight. His body might be settling, but his mind is still going in every possible direction. Half of those directions lead to Bucky. He bites down on his tongue and fights against the tears threatening to escape him.

“I’m sorry,” He says once he trusts his voice enough to be used. He doesn’t move, though, convinced that he can’t bear to look into Tony’s eyes right now. What does the guy even think of him right now? That he’s weak and unstable, insecure and a coward? Well, that’s all true, but that doesn’t mean he wants Tony to know.

“What are you apologizing for?” Tony asks quietly. He sounds calm and composed, the movements of his hand running through Steve’s hair never once faltering, and Steve doesn’t know how he could ever express his gratefulness. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I have this big brain I’m worldwide famous for, but I hardly seem to use it.”

That causes Steve to pick up his head, looking at Tony, uncaring that he can see the unshed tears in his blue eyes. “What?” He asks incredulously.

“You said no restrains,” Tony explains.

“I told you to tie me down,” Steve argues, unwilling to let Tony take the fall for this catastrophe. Truly, today is just one big chain-event of catastrophes.

“And obviously I shouldn’t have,” Tony says, gazing directly into Steve’s eyes – Steve who instantly wants to shrink back even though there lay no heat or accusation in Tony’s voice. No, Tony is being the perfect gentlemen, trying to come up with all the right things to say, but it only leads to Steve feeling all the more guilty. Tony deserves so much better than him. “I hurt you.”

“No,” Steve says, and he can’t believe that such a small word can still sound so goddamn shaky, “No, you didn’t. We’ve been together for a few months now and you’ve never once hurt me.”

Tony sits up a bit more, his back now resting against the headboard. “You say that like that surprises you,” He says sadly.

Steve stares at him, lips parted, and there are so many things he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to utter a single word. He sits up, too, looking directly into Tony’s eyes, and he can’t help but pull the silk sheet higher up his body. He feels exposed and vulnerable, but worst of all, he feels like he’s making Tony feel like shit.

“Steve …” Tony starts softly. He lifts a hand, like he wants to reach out to him, only to change his mind when Steve pulls back, and really, it’s instinctual, but Steve can’t help it. He’s still waiting for that inevitable blow. “I’m not an idiot,” He continues, “I’ve noticed how you sometimes seem to walk on the tips of your toes, afraid to make a sound. I’ve noticed how you sometimes stare at nothing and I’m left wondering where your head is at. I’ve noticed how you sometimes flinch when I touch you unexpectedly or kiss you suddenly.”

Breathing becomes hard again, but he forces himself to keep at it anyway. In and out, in and out. He can do this, only … Why is it so hard? And why does Tony know everything that he doesn’t want him to know? Because he’s a fool, and of course he can’t hide his past from him. Of course Tony picked up on all the small things.

“What on earth did he do to you?” Tony asks carefully, and this time, he does reach out for Steve, the tips of his fingers sliding down Steve’s jaw.

Steve blinks his tears away and inhales deeply. He can’t turn back now. He’s come this far, so he might as well keep going. Hesitantly, Steve turns around on the bed and lowers the sheet that Tony wrapped around his body until his back in exposed, until he knows Tony can see the long, thin scar on his lower back. A silence drags on, but Steve doesn’t look over his shoulder. He’s not sure he wants to see the look on Tony’s face right now.

“He did that to you?” Tony asks then, incredulity and anger ringing in his voice. “Bucky gave you that scar?”

Steve lowers his head and closes his eyes. “I told you he didn’t take the break-up very well.”

“Yeah, I remember, but this …” Tony shuffles closer to him, his hand running down the scar, and Steve shudders. Tony presses a kiss to his shoulder blade before pulling the sheet back up, and Steve releases a breath he hadn’t known to be holding. “God, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not as strong as you think I am,” He sighs. He thinks he has his tears under control, as well as his breathing, so he turns back to Tony to find the man gazing at him, sorrow in his dark, brown eyes. He hates it, because this is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid. Tony knows the truth now; he knows how weak he really is. “I used to be this skinny, scrawny kid, always sick, and you’d think I’d be the perfect target for bullies, but no one ever laid one finger on me, because I had Bucky and he protected me.” It seems that all his life he’s been in need for a protector. “I loved him since the day I met him, because Bucky was … well … He was everything I wasn’t. He didn’t love me back, though, not in the same way, and it killed me on the inside, so when I got a chance to join the army, I took it.”

Tony nods, knowing what Steve was talking about. “The special ops program,” He says. He takes Steve’s hands into his and squeezes them, encouraging him to keep talking, and it’s strange, but telling Tony feels good. It’s like a heavy weight is being lifted from his chest, like suddenly, he doesn’t have to hide his secrets anymore. He can tell Tony just how screwed up he is, because he knows some facts already and he’s still sitting with him.

“When I came back from the army,” He continues, his gaze trained on his hands inside of Tony’s, “Bucky finally _saw_ me. We decided to go to college together, and I felt like the luckiest man alive, because Bucky finally loved me back, only he didn’t quite look at it the same way. No, to him, I was finally worthy to be his boyfriend.”

“God, Steve,” Tony sighs. He lifts their hands and presses a kiss to Steve’s fingers.

“He controlled everything I did and I was too stupid to realize it,” Steve says, still unable to look into Tony’s eyes, because this is where it becomes so painfully obvious that he’s not the strong, confident man people make him out to be, “Bucky decided what classes I took, who I talked to, what I wore, … He decided everything, but then I met Clint. We had economics 101 together and slowly, he made me realize that my relationship with Bucky was anything but healthy. I watched him be happy with Natasha, and I … I wasn’t happy at all.”

He dares to glance up at Tony and finds that the man is staring at their joined hands. Tony has that peculiar look on his face, the one he gets when he’s focused on something while the rest of the world fades away. Steve’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that he’s the one Tony’s so focused on, and he’s not sure he likes it.

“So you tried to break up with him,” Tony says when Steve stays quiet for a moment. He looks up and catches Steve’s eyes, and Steve instantly looks away, only for Tony reach up with one hand and place it to the side of Steve’s neck. “You can tell me, but you don’t have to, okay?”

Steve nods and swallows heavily. “I didn’t try to break up with him,” He says. His cheeks flush red with shame. “I couldn’t, but I guess I did start to pull away. And then one evening, Bucky and I … I thought everything was fine, until he’d tied me down and started screaming at me.” Just the memory has shivers run down his spine, but Tony is right there and Steve knows he’s safe. “He started accusing me of having an affair, with Clint, and he wanted me to confess. I couldn’t do anything, not even when he whipped me until I started bleeding. I guess that’s when Bucky knew that what he was doing was wrong, because he untied me and he started begging me for forgiveness, but I just ran.”

“You ran?” Tony asks.

Exhaling, Steve lets himself fall forward until he can feel Tony’s arms wrap around him. “I ran to Clint,” He says, “And he was kind enough to let me crash at his place until we graduated. Of course Bucky stood at his door every day, but he never let him in. And then we moved to New York when Natasha got a job offer here, and, well, you’ve seen Bucky.”

“He followed you here,” Tony says, understanding. He’s running his hands up and down Steve’s back, comforting him, and Steve doesn’t know how he can listen to his story and not freak out, “That fucker is stalking you.”

“I have a restraining order.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony scoffs, “And he’s totally sticking to it.”

Steve buries his face into Tony’s chest. “Don’t get mad,” He says softly.

“Why aren’t you getting mad?” Tony questions.

“Because I’m too tired,” Steve forces out, and it’s the truth. He picks up his head and glances up at Tony, silently begging him not to get angry. He could really miss that today. God, was it Friday yet? “I’ve spent months being angry, but it’s pointless. It doesn’t chase him away. So I can’t … I don’t have the strength to be angry anymore and all that’s left is fear. Bucky terrifies me. I just want him to leave me alone.”

Tony nods and then lies back, pulling Steve along with him. They’re both wrapped up in sheets and in each other, and Steve wonders when that happened? It seems one moment he’d been trying to put distance between them and now he’s clinging to Tony for dear life.

“Thanks for telling me,” Tony says after a long silence.

Steve doesn’t reply. He listens to Tony’s heartbeat, waiting for it to speed up, waiting for Tony to panic, the full weight of the story sinking in, and then he’ll be running. It’s inevitable, so he lies there and he waits, and then he falls asleep.

-x-x-x-

When he wakes, Steve feels surprisingly well rested, which confuses him, but he decides not to look a gifted horse in the mouth. It’s still one more day until the weekend after all. Turning, he finds the other side of the bed empty, but Tony’s side is still lukewarm when he brushes a hand across the sheet which means he couldn’t have gotten up too long ago.

He stretches his arms and legs, groaning at the wonderful feeling. The idea that he has to leave this bed, this warm and incredibly soft bed, is frustrating, but his curiosity as to where Tony is gets the better of him.

“Jarvis?” He asks, sitting up and glancing around, like he’s going to find a clue about Tony’s whereabouts. But the room is dark, and with Jarvis’ kind ‘ _Good morning_ ’ the curtains slide open with a soft mechanical sound, letting in bright sunlight. “Oh, crap,” He breathes when he sees how high the sun is already up in the air. He jumps out of bed, only to glance down and find that he’s naked and to remember that his clothes are scattered all around the penthouse. “Oh, crap,” He repeats, louder this time.

Grabbing the silk sheet Tony used to wrap him in last night, Steve uses it to cover himself up before he pads down the hallway, making his way to the main room of the penthouse where he hopes to find Tony. Once in the main room, the floor-to-ceiling windows let in the bright sunlight, casting everything in an orange glow, and for one brief moment, Steve pauses, feeling the warm sunrays on his face. It helps him get some control over the panic that’s threatening to overwhelm him, because it’s obviously late in the morning and he should be at work.

“Tony?” He calls out, turning away from the windows even though he’d like to enjoy the warmth of the sun for a bit longer.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Tony calls back.

Steve spins around and walks toward Tony’s voice. He halts as soon as he enters the kitchen, though, his eyes snapping to the set table where there is freshly squeezed orange juice and yoghurt. The smell of coffee fills the air, but what makes his mouth water are the blueberry pancakes Tony is currently baking. They smell delicious and Steve’s stomach growls in response.

“What time is it?” Slips from his mouth.

“A little after nine,” Tony replies casually as he flips a pancake.

“After nine?” Steve echoes, his voice too high to be natural.

“Relax,” Tony says, staying calm and even daring to smile, which throws Steve off, because how can the guy be smiling? He should be at work already! “I called your work and said you’re sick. You were sleeping so peacefully and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you, and I thought we could use a day off after yesterday.”

Steve’s shaking his head, his lips slightly parted, though he hasn’t a clue what he could possibly say. Tony called his work and lied to his boss? He’s never going to let him hear the end of it, but … Tony also _called his work and lied to his boss_ so that he could have the day off, and yeah, he could definitely use that.

“Now have a seat,” Tony says, gesturing to the table, “The pancakes are ready to be served and you should eat them while they’re hot.”

Steve doesn’t have any problem taking a seat at the table, not now that he knows he doesn’t need to worry about work, though he should call Clint and assure him he’s fine. But right now, he’s starving and the food looks great so he’s going to enjoy this. "You don’t have to take the day off for me,” He says when Tony sits down at the table as well, because he’s feeling guilty that Tony is doing all this for him after he completely ruined their day yesterday, “I know you’re a busy man with responsibilities.”

“I’m also a smart man,” Tony grins. He leans closer to Steve and presses a kiss to his cheek, the gesture so casual and sweet that it makes Steve’s chest feel too tight what with his heart beating so fast. “And I hired the smartest woman on this planet to help me lead Stark Industries.”

“You shouldn’t have to take advantage of Pepper for me,” Steve replies, still a bit dazzled at the strange feeling inside of his chest.

“I pay her enough,” Tony says, waving his hand about for a second. He looks so casual, and Steve realizes something; Tony isn’t intentionally trying to make Steve feel better and he isn’t intentionally ignoring everything that happened yesterday. No, this is just him accepting what happened and moving on.

“Tony,” Steve says, and he uses enough gravity in his voice to make Tony look at him with a frown of worry covering his brow. It makes him smile, and he suddenly understands what that tight feeling in his chest means. “You shouldn’t have done this,” He says, placing a hand to the side of Tony’s face before kissing him, “I love you.”

The frown on Tony’s face instantly disappears and his eyes lighten up. “Great,” He says, grinning like a fool, and would you look at that? Steve is convinced that he’s taken Tony off guard because the guy looks flustered and unsure of what he’s doing and it’s … adorable. He never thought he’d find Tony adorable. “That’s great,” Tony continues, flabbergasted, “because I love you, too. Honestly, I don’t just make a fantastic breakfast like this for anyone.”

Steve laughs, something he didn’t think he’d be doing again given all that happened yesterday, but there he is, sitting next to Tony, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he thinks the world isn’t that bad of a place after all, not when he has Tony in it with him. “I haven’t tasted it yet,” He says, grinning, “So for all I know, all of this tastes horrible.”

Tony’s lips part in shock. “Are you mocking my cooking skills?” He asks, offended, though the look in his eyes betrays his true emotions, and it’s obvious he’s biting away laughter.

“Oh, you call this cooking?” Steve replies, chuckling, “Baking a few pancakes isn’t cooking, Tony.”

“And I suppose you’re a great cook,” Tony says, rolling his eyes.

Steve nudges him in the shoulder. “I am, as a matter of fact,” He argues as he cuts a piece of the blueberry pancake Tony gave him and stuffs it in his mouth, “You just haven’t given me the chance the cook for you yet.” He’s not sure Tony was able to understand any of those words, what with his mouth full of food.

“Well, we have no plans today,” Tony’s smile is genuine and warm, and Steve just wants to kiss him again, but he also wants to hear what he has to say, “So I say we go to the store, get some ingredients, and you can cook dinner tonight.”

“Is that a challenge?” Steve questions, “That sounds like a challenge.”

Tony cocks his head sideways. “Do you accept?”

Steve sucks his lower lip in between his teeth and bites down, watching Tony’s eyes take him in, and it looks like the man is about to lose his mind. Steve laughs and takes another bite from his pancake. “Hell yeah,” He grins.

-x-x-x-

“Okay, that’s one thing we can cross of our list,” Clint says when they exit the store. Steve is already feeling exhausted, and the afternoon has only just started. He’s carrying one bag and he knows a dozen more are going to follow, which makes him groan, loudly, but Clint is either too busy listening to himself or he’s purposely ignoring him. Steve would put his money on the latter. “We only have fifty more things to get before the outfit will be complete.”

“Why can’t I just wear a suit I already own?” Steve asks, willing to go far and deep to somehow make an end to this afternoon already. “I own nice suits.”

“The theme is black and blue, Steve,” Clint says, like he’s said a hundred times already, like he’s explaining how a tablet works to a five year old – Steve’s convinced kids these days don’t need that explained anymore, “And I doubt you have anything that fits that description. Besides, everyone will be wearing something new. You’re not going to be the only one standing there in an old suit.” Clint stops suddenly and turns to Steve, facing him head on. Steve starts to feel guilty now. “You’re my best man, Steve, don’t me regret that decision.”

There is a short silence before Steve sighs, surrendering. “Fine,” He says, throwing his head back and sucking in a deep breath, “Just know that I hate shopping.”

Clint grabs a fistful of his coat – it’s a cold May day – and forces Steve to focus on him, though the amused look in his eyes make Steve grin. It’s been too long since they did something together, just the two of them as friends. “We’re men, Rogers,” He says, like he’s some general from the army, and Steve would know. He’s been in the army. “We were designed to hate shopping. Now don’t be such a baby and decide where you want to get your suit from. Armani? Gucchi? Givenchy?”

“What?” Steve asks, eyes widening, his mouth actually turning a bit dry. “I don’t have money to buy a suit from them!”

“I know, I know,” Clint chuckles. He lets go of Steve and brushes a hand down his coat, flattening the crease he made, “You should have seen the look on your face, though. Brilliant.”

“You asshole,” Steve mutters, shoving Clint’s hand aside. And then they’re walking again, thanking whatever deity is out there that the street isn’t too busy even though it’s a Saturday afternoon and it’s not raining.

“Now, seriously,” Clint says, “We do need to find a store where we can get a decent suit.”

Steve glances around. There are plenty of shoe-stores and he thinks of a great little store just outside of the city. They’ll definitely need to go there when they want to cross ‘shoes’ off of their list. His eye catches a jewelry store, but they don’t need anything from that place, so he keeps looking around, searching for a store that looks half decent – and then he sees him. Steve halts and he squints his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Clint asks, instantly on guard. He’s looking around, too, searching for that one familiar face he’s just waiting to punch again, but Steve just taps him on the shoulder and hands him the bag that holds his brand new leather belt. “Steve?” Clint asks, taking the bag from him.

Steve just shakes his head and keeps looking across the street, knowing Clint will eventually spot him, too. Honestly, it’s hard _not_ to spot him, what with the black suit and the sunglasses even though there’s hardly any sun out. He grabs his phone and dials Tony’s number without having to look down at the small buttons, which comes in handy because he doesn’t want to lose sight of Happy who’s standing at the shop-window of a candy store, like he’s so very interested in the candy. Or maybe he is. It wouldn’t surprise Steve, but in any case, it can’t be a coincidence that he’s standing there.

Tony picks up after just three rings. “Hello, my dear,” He says sweetly, smoothly, and Steve can tell he’s at the labs right now since he can hear different mechanical tools working in the background, “How is shopping going? Losing your mind already?”

“Oh, shopping is going great,” Steve says, knowing he sounds too sweet, but he can’t help it. Happy turns to him and when he catches sight of Steve staring right at him, he’s suddenly walking into the candy shop. “But you’ll never guess who’s here, too.”

“Oh?” Tony sounds too innocent.

“Happy.”

There is a short silence that feels really long, but Steve doesn’t care. Honestly, he can’t believe Tony stuck Happy on him, like he needs a bodyguard! Clint is enough of a bodyguard really, but he says none of that out loud, though. He doesn’t want to stroke Clint’s ego more than he needs to. So instead, he decides to let Tony stew in his own mess for a bit. It’s not very nice of him, but, well, Tony stuck a bodyguard on him!

“What a coincidence,” Tony eventually says and damn, he’s good at faking surprise.

“ _Tony_.”

“So I told Happy to look after you, sue me,” Tony says, already giving up, “I’m just concerned, that’s all. I’m a concerned boyfriend, and this should get me some extra points, not a scolding.”

“I can’t believe you gave me a bodyguard without telling me,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his noise, only to look up when he hears Clint produce a smothered sound. He sends the man a sharp look when he realizes that Clint needs all of his willpower not to burst with laughter. “Call him and tell him that his services are no longer required.”

“But, Steve–”

“No buts, Tony,” He points threateningly at Clint who’s about to scream with laughter because apparently he’s surrounded by idiots who laugh at the word ‘buts’, “I don’t need a bodyguard, not for any reason, so please call him. Honestly, you should see him. Why did you even hire him as your bodyguard?”

“He’s surprisingly apt.”

“He’s hiding in a candy store because I saw him,” Steve sighs.

“He’s surprisingly apt most of the time.”

“Really?” Steve asks, shaking his head with disbelief, “ _Really_?”

Tony sighs on the other end of the line, which Steve knows means he’s ready to give in. “Alright,” He says after a few moments of contemplation, and Steve grins like a fool even though Tony can’t actually see him, “I’ll call him and tell him that he doesn’t have to protect you anymore.”

“Thank you,” Steve says sincerely, “Now can Clint and I go back to our horrendous shopping or will I find more bodyguards hidden all over town?”

Silence.

“God, Tony!”

“I’ll call them off, no worries,” Tony says. He’s sounding amused, and Steve vows to make him pay for it tonight, and not the good kind of ‘pay’. “You can go back to your shopping, Steve. No one is going to be following you through the city anymore.”

“Okay,” Steve answers, and because he can’t stand the look of complete hilarity on Clint’s face, he just starts walking, knowing the man will follow him, “I’ll be home around five.”

“Love you,” Tony says, and with that, the call ends.

Clint hands Steve his bag back. “So,” He starts, “He’s not going to call them off, is he?”

“Probably not,” Steve replies.


	7. The Wedding

He checks himself in the mirror again, knowing that nothing has changed during the past ten minutes, but he can’t help it. The suit feels strange on him, like it’s too big and too small at the same time, no matter how many times Tony has already assured him that it’s fine. He adjusts his navy blue tie for the umpteenth time and runs a hand through his short, blond hair. He looks ridiculous, he’s convinced of it, but it doesn’t matter, because today is not about him. No, today is about Clint and Natasha, and today needs to be perfect.

“Tony, please tell me you’re out of the shower yet!” Steve calls out when he realizes it’s too quiet around him. He turns away from the mirror and walks out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and toward the bathroom. He groans when he sees steam coming from underneath the door. “Tony, you have to get dressed. Come one. It’s one o’clock and I told Clint we’d be at his place at two.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. He knows Tony has heard him and he knows the man will find the strength to step out from underneath those hot rays – because admittedly, it _is_ a magnificent shower. Still, they have one hour left and Tony isn’t helping him with his nerves. When he’s in the kitchen, he instantly goes for the coffee machine, pressing all the buttons since he never did get the hang of that stupid machine.

“You’re killing it,” Comes a voice from behind him. Steve doesn’t turn around, no, he keeps pressing various buttons, hitting them really, cursing under his breath. “Okay, you need to calm down. Relax. Everything will run smoothly,” Tony assures him as he steps up behind Steve and hits the one button that gets him a full cup of coffee.

Steve inhales sharply, holds his breath for three seconds, counting them, and then he sighs heavily. “God, I’m so nervous,” He groans, staring at the cup of coffee. Maybe coffee isn’t the way to go, only then he thinks that Clint and Natasha are about to get _married_ so he quickly grabs the cup and smells the divine blackness.

“You’re Clint’s best man,” Tony says, letting his chin rest on top of Steve’s shoulder. His shampoo smells great and oddly enough, it helps Steve calm down. Or maybe that isn’t so odd. Tony always helps him calm down. “You feel responsible for making this day go by smoothly, but Steve, honey, Natasha is the biggest control freak I’ve ever met and that’s including me. You have nothing to worry about. She’ll have thought of everything.”

Steve nods. Tony is right after all. As always. But he won’t tell the guy that. Setting down the cup of coffee, he turns around, wanting to give Tony a kiss, only to find him wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. “You’re not dressed yet!” He shrieks. Tony actually shrinks back at the too high sound. “Get dressed. Now!”

“Getting dressed takes five minutes,” Tony says, stepping back, pointing one finger at Steve, “I do it in a record tempo, you know. I have experience with these kinds of things.”

“Well, then impress me and break your record,” Steve smiles sharply. He can’t believe Tony is not even dressed yet. It’s a twenty minute drive to Clint’s house, and that’s not accounting any traffic.

“Fine, fine,” Tony says, waving a hand around before disappearing from the kitchen.

Steve shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second, and tells himself that they’ll be on time. Happy is going to drive them after all and he may not be a good secret bodyguard, but he does have amazing driving skills. He once drove them to the theatre in less than ten minutes when Tony couldn’t get out of the shower in time. Steve makes a mental note to forbid Tony from taking showers when there’s a time limit in play. Or maybe he should install a time-lock or something.

With every sip he takes from his coffee, he actually finds himself relaxing. There’s still an hour time, after all. And Tony is an incredibly fast dresser. He’s an even faster un-dresser. He’s really good with clothes. He hears Tony pad across the penthouse a moment later, the ticking of his fancy shoes on the parquet instantly drawing his attention. Steve finishes the last of his coffee and goes to meet him in the main room.

“Steve,” Tony says when he sees him coming his way, “Can you come sit with me for a second?” Steve rolls his eyes and parts his lips, ready to list off all the different reasons why he _doesn’t_ have a second to spare, but Tony beats him to it, saying, “Just a second, you have a second, Steve. Come here.”

So maybe he can spare a second, so he goes to the lowered island by the fire that’s not currently burning, and sits down beside Tony on the couch, impatiently waiting for him to say whatever he has to say. What he doesn’t expect is Tony to take his hand and turn it over, the palm facing up. Steve frowns and looks down just in time to see Tony place a small black box in it.

He stares at it. That’s all he can do. It can’t be a ring, the box is a size too big for that, unless it’s a massive ring and knowing Tony, Steve knows he’d go for massive. Oh, god. Hands shaking, he folds his fingers around the small item and takes a moment to calm down. The only thought crashing into his mind is that this is taking longer than a second.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s handling the most precious thing in the world, he opens the black box, finding a key inside. His heart is pounding inside his chest, the palms of his hands turning sweaty, and he doesn’t even know why. He looks up, finding Tony gazing at him, his dark brown eyes alight with excitement.

“Move in with me?” He asks. “The key is more symbolic, really, since the elevator works with a code, and frankly, too many people know that code, but that key … That key will let you in here even if the elevator is in total shutdown.”

Steve looks back down, taking the key out of the box, and it fits surprisingly well in the palm of his hand, the metal cool. “Yes,” He hears himself say, the word leaving him before he really processed it, but now that he’s said it, he feels he doesn’t need to think more about it, “Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

Tony’s hands come to rest against each side of Steve’s face, tilting his head up before kissing him. Steve instantly returns the kiss, leaning forward, toward Tony, and grabbing hold of Tony’s button-up shirt, uncaring that he’s wrinkling it – or maybe he does care, because he quickly lets go and instead just places a hand to his chest. They have a wedding to attend, after all.

“God, you couldn’t wait to ask that question tonight?” He asks breathlessly once they part. Tony frowns, confused, but Steve sends him a dirty look – he’s getting good at those – before standing, slipping the key into the pocket of his trousers. “Go get your vest,” He says, straightening his tie for the hundredth time, “We really gotta leave now.”

“Damn, I should have waited until tonight,” Tony groans.

-x-x-x-

He feels a hand slip into his, squeezing gently, calling for his attention. Steve turns to look over his shoulder, knowing who he’ll find there, but those dark eyes filled with that bright twinkle of life still catches him off guard each time. Tony looks like he’s having fun even though he barely knows anyone here, though he supposes that the guy is kinda used to those types of situations.

“Will you relax now?” Tony asks softly, the words only meant for his ears. “The ceremony was beautiful, you stepped forward with the rings right on cue, and you handed over the wide doves when you needed to.”

All that had been so incredibly stressful, so Steve can’t even begin to imagine what Clint was going through right now, the stress that must be coursing through his veins, only … When he looks over at him, the man standing at the other side of the room, greeting the guests as they arrive for the wedding reception, Steve can’t help but think how relaxed he looks. He’s smiling, and he has an arm casually folded around Natasha’s waist – which leads Steve to stare at Natasha again, because _damn_ , she looks gorgeous! Her fiery red hair has been pinned up and, with the way her make-up has been done, she looks less lethal than usual. The fact that she’s wearing a white gown that seems to hug her body helps, too.

“He looks so happy,” Steve says, smiling, leaning back against Tony and enjoying the way his strong arms fold around him, hugging him and keeping him close. He wishes he could stay like that for the rest of the afternoon-slash-evening.

“The guy married an assassin,” Tony replies, sounding thoughtful, “I don’t understand why he looks happy at all. He’s risking his life over there.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve chastises him, slapping him on the arm, which isn’t an easy feat considering how he has his back to him. Still, he chuckles, his gaze glued on the newly married couple, “Besides, she has never confirmed nor denied that. It’s all speculations.”

Tony laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get a drink. No, let’s get _you_ a drink, you’ve earned it,” He says, and yes, Steve thinks, that does sound like a terrific idea, especially since it’s an open bar, “What would you like?”

He pushes himself away from Tony, hating that they have to part, and turns around, facing him. “Surprise me,” He says, smiling, “I drank way too much coffee at your place, though, so I’m going to have to use the bathroom first.”

“Okay,” Tony hums, turning to open bar. There aren’t too many people standing there since the wedding reception has only just started. “Prepare to be dazzled. I know a thing or two about alcohol.”

“Don’t get me drunk already,” Steve says as he walking backwards, eyes still fixed on Tony. “It’s only–” He glances down at his watch, “–four thirty in the afternoon and we need to be presentable until at least eleven this evening.”

“You got it,” Tony says, winking at him, making Steve well aware that he _hasn’t_ got it and that he probably shouldn’t trust anything Tony is going to hand him in a few minutes. Before he can reply anything, however, Tony is already making his way to the bar.

Steve sighs and shakes his head as he makes his way to the bathroom which is at the entrance of the room. He passes a few people he knows, but he doesn’t stay with them longer than it takes to say hello. He really needs to use the bathroom and he really needs to go back to Tony to make sure he’s not mixing up too much alcohol. Really, he can already imagine him fixing him a cocktail that will knock him out in five minutes.

On the other hand, he realizes, he trusts Tony. It still feels so goddamn weird to trust someone like that again. Sure, he trusts Clint and he trusts Thor, but it’s different. He can’t explain how or why, but he decides that he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to explain anything to anyone. He’s with Tony and he’s enjoying himself and he _trusts_ him. He loves him. Maybe he shouldn’t think too much about it. He can feel panic well up inside of him as it is, because thinking too much about that stuff makes him feel scared and insecure. To this day, he still doesn’t really understand why Tony loves him back.

He exits the bathroom stall after he went to the toilet and steps up to the mirror, still lost in his thoughts. It’s only when he’s washing his hands that he hears the locking of a door. He looks up and through the mirror he spots him. His heart skips a beat, and Steve instantly turns to the entrance of the bathroom, uncaring that his hands are dripping wet.

Bucky is standing before the locked door, his dark eyes trained on Steve’s light blue ones. His brown hair is long, coming past his shoulders, and it looks dirty, like it hasn’t been washed in a few weeks. There are dark circles around his eyes, and his frame looks thin. He looks sick. Steve swallows heavily and takes a step back without really wanting to. His heart is racing within his chest and he’s well aware of how his hands are trembling, but beyond his instant panic and fear, there is something else.

Anger. And that’s new, but Steve holds onto it like he’s holding onto dear life itself. Anger is better than fear and panic. He balls his hands into fists and clenches his jaw.

“What are you doing here?” He demands. He can only think of Clint and Natasha. Today is their wedding day and the last thing he wants is to ruin that – to have Bucky ruin that because of him.

“I had to see you,” Bucky starts. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing is back. “I had to talk to you.”

Steve shakes his head. He’s not going to let Bucky get to him and he’s not going to be intimidated by him. He wants to leave those days behind. “Here?” He asks incredulously. “Now?”

“Steve–”

“No,” Steve interjects before Bucky has the chance to say anything. He doesn’t want to hear what the guy has to say. He’s heard it all before and he’s tired of it. Isn’t Bucky tired of it yet? Apparently not and it only adds fuel to the fire inside of Steve, the fire that is his anger and exasperation. “No, you’re not ruining today,” He continues, “I want you to leave.”

Bucky looks shocked, his eyes filled with nervousness and tension. “You’re not even going to hear me out?” He asks with a hard voice.

Steve swallows heavily. He can best describe Bucky as a wild animal that, when cornered, lashes out, and right now, he looks pretty cornered, but Steve pushes on. He’s given into him enough times and none of that has helped him in any way. “I’ve heard enough from you already,” He says. He just wants to go back to Tony. “Now, I am going to return to the wedding reception and you are gonna go home. You’re a mess, Bucky.”

“You’re doing this to me!” Bucky shouts, lashing out, just as Steve predicted, only … Steve watches in shock as Bucky takes out a knife, the blade long and sharp. “You drive me mad!” Bucky hisses, pointing the knife toward him.

Steve takes another step back and inhales deeply, sharply. He needs to stay calm, but it’s damn hard what with his crazy ex-boyfriend threatening him with a knife. “Jesus, Bucky,” Is all he manages to utter.

“I love you, but you don’t even want me in your life anymore,” Bucky says, shaking his head, and Steve hates that there are tears in those dark eyes, because what gives Bucky the right to look broken and damaged? He’s not the one who got hurt or who suffered through years of abuse. “What on earth can I do to make you understand that you’re it for me?” He asks, desperation in his voice.

“Put away the knife,” Steve says, because what else can he say? What could he possibly say to calm Bucky down?

“Are you scared?” Bucky asks. It isn’t a taunt.

“Yes, I’m scared,” Steve answers truthfully. Lying is pointless. The fear is probably radiating from his body. His knees are trembling and Steve can feel his heart thumping inside his throat, which feels so dry that his words sound coarse. “I’m scared because this wouldn’t be the first time I’d get hurt because of you.”

Bucky falters, his hand holding the knife lowering. “Steve …”

“Do you want to hurt me?” Steve asks, staring straight into Bucky eyes.

There is a silence that drags on, but Steve refuses to be the one to break it. He just stares at Bucky, waiting for his answer, because at this point, he honestly doesn’t know what’s going on anymore. He doesn’t believe him anymore when he says that he loves him, because this couldn’t possibly be love. No, this is … poison, and it’s killing them both.

“No,” Bucky replies eventually, looking down and squeezing his eyes shut, “God, I don’t know.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs. This is gone on long enough. “I’m going to leave now,” He says, taking a small step forward, toward Bucky. He hates that he needs to pass the man _and_ unlock the door before he can get out. Just that thought makes it hard for him to breathe, but he makes sure Bucky notices none of that. He refuses to give him the satisfaction, though he supposes that right now, Bucky couldn’t care less about his fear.

“Go home, Buck,” He adds as he passes him. He reaches out for the lock, only to feel Bucky’s hand fold around his wrist, pulling him back.

“Steve, please just listen–” Bucky starts.

With his breath caught inside his chest, Steve turns and violently pulls at his wrist, the idea of Bucky touching him causing his entire body to thrum with hysteria, because he’s all alone with him and the door is locked.

“Let me go!” He shrieks, his hands shaking.

“I just want to–” Bucky tries again, but Steve is panicking now and he wants to put distance between the two of them.

He takes a step forward, needing to be closer to Bucky in order to shove him away. He lifts a trembling hand – his other still caught in Bucky’s grip – and knocks it against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky growls and lashes out again, his hand holding the knife shooting forward, and then there is nothing but white-hot pain in Steve’s side.

He gasps for air and looks down, watching Bucky pull back the knife, the blade now stained red. Breathing becomes impossible, as well as thinking properly. He knows he should do something, but he’s frozen in place, his limbs refusing to listen to his brain, no matter how much he screams in his head to turn and unlock the door, to run.

Bucky moves first, however. His dark eyes stand wide and he looks pale, but at least he is able to move. Steve curses him as Bucky darts past him and hurries from the bathroom, leaving him alone. He should be pleased, really, but the idea that Bucky just left him hurts, too.

His hands grab hold of the edge of the sink, knowing that if he has nothing to hold onto, he will fall. His knuckles turn white. He looks up at himself in the mirror and groans. His lips are white, too, with how hard he’s pressing them together, because he knows that if he were to part them, he will scream in agony, so he keeps them closed and he forces himself to think. It feels like fire is burning its way through his body and pooling in his side, and Steve thinks he’s actually going to throw up with how much it hurts.

Outside of the men’s room, he hears voices, all happily talking and laughing.

He needs to get to Tony, so he straightens his back and closes his vest, hiding the redness of his white shirt. The last thing he wants is to cause panic. No, he needs to get to Tony and then get out of here, to a hospital. Steve turns and focuses on the steps he takes – three to the door, four to round the corner to the main room where the reception is being held. His eyes frantically search for Tony and he panics when he doesn’t instantly find him. His vision swims before him for a second and he thinks he’s going to pass out, so he stands there for a moment and focuses on his breathing. In and out. In and out.

Clint is still standing by the wall, welcoming guests and accepting wedding presents. He’s still laughing and having the time of his life, so Steve vows to stay away from him. He’s not going to destroy his day. He continues to scan the growing crowd until he finally sees Tony by the bar and really, he should have looked there first. Tony is holding two drinks and he’s talking to a guy Steve has never seen before. Tony has always been so jovial and amiable so it doesn’t surprise him that he’s already talking to a stranger. He’s very approachable.

The first steps are the hardest, but Steve makes his way through the crowd and he’s at Tony’s side a few seconds later.

“There you are,” Tony smiles, his gaze shifting between him and the stranger, “Have you met Clint’s brother yet? He works at the circus, can you believe that?”

Any other day, he would have given anything to meet Clint’s brother, but right now, Steve can’t care less about the guy. “Barney,” He says, offering him a polite smile, but he has a feeling he’s failing miserably. Who can blame him? He can actually feel drops of blood trickling down his side. He grabs hold of Tony’s hand and squeezes, hard. Tony’s eyes instantly find his, confusion and worry visible in his dark gaze. “I have to talk to you. Outside.”

“Okay,” Tony says.

Without another word, they leave Barney standing alone. Steve doesn’t let go of Tony’s hand. At first he’s the one pulling him forward, toward the exit, but he can actually feel his strength leaving him, and eventually Tony walks first, guiding them through the people.

“What’s wrong?” He asks when they’re nearly at the door.

“Outside,” Steve just replies.

He stumbles and falls sideways, but Tony is there to catch him. Steve groans and bites down on his tongue, refusing to scream in pain, in agony. He clutches at Tony’s shoulders and drops his head into the crook of his neck. It soothes him to be so close to Tony, to know that he’s there and holding him.

“Steve?” Tony asks, terror in his voice.

Slowly, Steve straightens himself. He gazes at Tony, silently begging him to just take him outside, but he knows they won’t move until Tony has had some kind of explanation. But could he possibly tell him? So instead, he pushes aside his vest, showing him the blood staining his side. He watches every detail in Tony’s face and he notices the way all the color drains, the way his lips part slightly, though he obviously doesn’t know what he should say.

“Bucky,” Steve answers the question Tony didn’t ask, but has to be thinking.

“I have to call an ambulance,” Tony says.

“No,” Steve argues. His hands move to the sides of Tony’s neck. They’re right at the door and no one can see them. Thank god no one is arriving at the reception either. “No scene, no sirens, no red and blue lights. Happy can drive us to the hospital.” Happy is currently at the reception, too, enjoying non-alcoholic beverages since he’s Steve and Tony’s driver. The plan was that they could get drunk, but they’d still get home safe with Happy as their chauffeur. Turns out there will be a change of plans. “Call him; tell him to get the car. Please.”

“You were stabbed, Steve,” Tony says, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to be the one who ruins Clint’s day,” Steve says. He barely has any breath left to speak, but damn, he’s not going to let Tony win this argument. Why are they even arguing right now? “He’s looked forward to this for over a year, so he’s not going to know about this, not today.”

Tony looks at him, and Steve can tell that he’s struggling with his decision.

“Tony, please,” Steve says, begging.

“Okay,” Tony says. He leans forward and presses a quick kiss against Steve’s lips. There’s only panic in his eyes, and Steve isn’t used to see Tony like this. He isn’t used to see him scared. Tony takes hold of his phone and calls Happy, telling him to meet them right outside, and then they’re walking again, slowly, carefully, because each movement makes Steve’s side feel like it’s getting stabbed all over again.

Getting into the car is even worse. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and bites away the scream that wants to rip free from his lungs. Only when he’s lying down on the backseat, his head resting in Tony’s lap, Tony’s fingers carding through his hair, soothing him, does he dare release the breath he’s been holding. Fire is spreading through his veins, burning him. He’s shaking a lot.

“It’s fifteen minutes to the hospital,” Happy says as they get onto the main road.

“Make it ten,” Tony replies.

Steve gazes up at him, taking in the worry and fear that are so very visible in his features, and he wants to erase them, so he reaches up and traces the sharp line of his jaw, hoping to soothe Tony. “I’ll be fine,” He promises him, voice soft. He doesn’t have the strength to hold his hand up for very long. “I just need to rest for a bit,” He decides.

“No,” Tony instantly says, looking down and continuing to brush a hand through Steve’s short, blond hair. Panic flares up in his gaze. “No, what you need to do is stay awake and talk to me, Steve.”

But he can’t, and his eyes have already fluttered shut by the time Tony ended his sentence. He’s so goddamn tired, and he realizes that he doesn’t want to open his eyes, not even when Tony is asking him to look at him, to stay with him. Darkness engulfs him and Steve lets it, because at least now the pain is gone.

-x-x-x-

He doesn’t know what wakes him. Maybe it’s the sunlight streaming into the room, hurting his eyes even though he hasn’t even opened them yet. Maybe it’s the overwhelming smell of disinfectant, hurting his nose and making him feel sick to his stomach. Or maybe it’s the feeling of a warm hand holding his, letting him know that he isn’t alone. Steve slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times, having to get used to the strong light, but it’s not hard to find a pair of familiar chocolate brown eyes and that accompanying radiant smile.

“Hi, there,” Tony says softly, relief visible in his dark eyes. He stands from where he was sitting next to the hospital bed and sits down again on the edge of the mattress, his thumb continuing to rub soothing circles into the palm of Steve’s hand. “Let’s make a pact, here and now. We don’t scare each other like that ever again.”

Steve returns Tony’s smile with ease and he squeezes Tony’s hand. Carefully, he moves to sit up, only to feel something pull at his side – stitches. He groans, the memories of what happened between him and Bucky flooding back, and he pushes down the blanket and lifts his hospital-gown, but he can’t see the wound. It’s covered with white bandages, but Steve realizes that he isn’t in any pain, so that has to be good. His gaze travels toward his arm, finding an IV attached to him, but he doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that he’s getting extra fluids and pain medication through it.

“And why don’t we make a pact, too?” A new voice asks suddenly, causing Steve’s head to snap up, because that’s a voice he didn’t expected. “We don’t sneak away from each other’s weddings,” Clint continues with a hint of amusement as he rises from where he’s seated by the window in what looks to be a very uncomfortable chair.

Steve doesn’t know what to say or think. He can only stare at the man, and Clint grows obviously concerned, his grey eyes narrowing.

“You okay?” He asks as he steps up to Steve’s bed, his hands taking hold of the railing. His gaze switches between Steve and Tony, and Steve knows him well enough to understand that he’s trying to figure out what it is that he said wrong.

“Why are you here?” Steve can’t help but ask. His voice sounds rough, so he clears his throat, and his heart is thrumming within his chest, guilt crashing into him like a wave crashing into a rocky shoreline. This is the last thing he wanted. He begged Tony not to call an ambulance, but now Clint is here anyway? He should be anywhere, but here. He should be with Natasha. “You can’t be here,” He says, his voice faltering and his breath quickening, “You shouldn’t be here, Clint. It’s your wedding day and–”

“It _was_ my wedding day,” Clint interjects, holding up a hand, like that will stop Steve’s sudden burst of words – and okay, it does stop it, but Steve still stares at him, feeling guilty for being the worst best man in the entire history of mankind. “Yesterday,” He adds, “But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you thought you could sneak off without me noticing.”

Steve opens his mouth a few times to reply to that, but he’s suddenly lost for words. He imagines Clint suddenly noticing his absence, along with Tony’s. He imagines him trying to call him a dozen times, only to hear his voicemail. What did he think when he heard he was in the hospital? How mad was he?

“Steve?” Tony asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

Steve drops his gaze and stares at his hand still inside Tony’s. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but he closes his eyes and he hopes that that will hold back the tears that are threatening to escape him. “I didn’t want to ruin your wedding,” He says after a long and heavy silence. He lets go of Tony’s hand and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I always ruin everything.”

“Hey, Steve, come on,” Clint says. Steve can hear him stepping around the hospital bed, closer toward him, but he can’t bring himself to look up. Clint always does this. He always tries to protect him, but who is he kidding? Nothing he says will make Steve feel any better. “Why are you blaming yourself, huh?” He asks, “You didn’t stab yourself, so this isn’t your fault. Bucky stabbed you. It’s _his_ fault.”

Sure, he didn’t get stabbed on purpose, but that doesn’t mean none of it is his fault. Maybe if he’d handled Bucky differently, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place. “You should be home,” He simply says, dropping his hands and sighing. He realizes he’s actually very tired. “You just got married for God’s sake, but you’re here, in the hospital while you should be with Natasha, planning your honeymoon and opening all the presents you got.”

“There’s still plenty of time to do all that,” Clint assures him, patting him on the knee, and Steve finally looks over to him, refusing to believe a word he says, “God, Tony, help me out here. Tell him that the only one to blame is that son of a bitch Bucky.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Tony instantly says, nodding. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “And if it makes you feel any better, Clint only showed up here around midnight. That’s how long it took for him to notice you were gone.”

“That is, in fact, true,” Clint says, chuckling. He walks back to his chair in the corner of the room and drops down on it. He lifts his legs and places them on the window sill, and it’s enough to conjure a small smile to Steve’s face again, because that, _that_ is the Clint he knows and loves. “But to be fair, I thought you two had snuck off to God knows where to get some, if you know what I mean.”

“That was definitely a part of my evening-plan,” Tony says, grinning.

“Now _then_ I would have been pissed,” Clint retorts, pointing a finger at Tony, as if accusing him, or warning him. Steve isn’t sure, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that whatever Clint and Tony are doing or trying to do, it’s working, because there is a smile curving his lips upwards and he can’t stop it.

“Would you be able to blame me?” Tony asks, snorting.

“It was my wedding, dude,” Clint says, feigning shock, “The only one who has the right to get laid are the bride and groom.”

Tony waves Clint’s words away with his hand. “That’s old fashioned thinking,” He says, “No, a wedding, is the perfect place to get some.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but doesn’t reply anymore. Steve is well aware that were the roles reversed, he would have planned exactly the same with Natasha. He sinks a bit lower and lets his head fall back onto the pillow. He was given an anesthetic yesterday and he can feel some traces of it still in his body.

“You want to get some sleep?” Tony asks him softly, his hand coming to rest to the side of his face, caressing him for a moment.

“Yeah,” He answers, nodding.

“Okay,” Tony says, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

-x-x-x-

Tony is not, in fact, there when Steve wakes, but given that it’s the middle of the night, Steve doesn’t blame him. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, blinking away his fatigue, only to suddenly wonder why he woke up in the first place. He lets his gaze roam around the room, but it’s hard to see anything in the darkness. With a groan, he sits up and reaches for the small light above his bed. The moment it springs on, he freezes, his eyes locking with a dark gaze.

Bucky is sitting where, only a few hours ago, Clint sat.

“Bucky?” He can’t help but ask, knowing he sounds ridiculous, his voice too high. Maybe this is all a bad dream. Or maybe he’s having a late reaction to the anesthetics and he’s hallucinating or something. They’re plausible explanations, right?

“Hi,” Bucky says, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s loud enough to shatter his hopes.

So it’s real, and Steve feels his chest tighten. “God, Bucky, what are you doing here?” He asks, unsure why he’s asking that question of all the questions in his head. It’s always hard to think straight when Bucky’s around. “It’s the middle of the night,” He adds, glancing outside again, spotting the moon high in an ink-black sky through the curtains.

“I snuck in,” Bucky explains, like it’s the most obvious and normal answer in the world, “I had to know if you were alright.”

“You _stabbed_ me,” Steve replies without missing a beat. He realizes that the tightness to his chest isn’t caused by fear, like it usually is, but by anger, and he quite likes it. He holds onto the emotion with both his hands, desperate not to slip into his old ways of cowering before the man.

“It was an accident, Steve, and–”

“Bullshit,” He interrupts. If it had been an accident, he would have slipped and fallen onto the knife or something. Actually, no, in none of the possible scenarios he can think of could it have ever been an accident, he decides.

Bucky presses his lips together, and Steve can tell he’s biting away words. The man looks on the verge of a mental breakdown, but Steve can’t bring himself to feel sorry for him, not after everything he’s been through because of him.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers after a short silence.

Steve shakes his head furiously. “No,” He says, his anger swelling, “No, you don’t get to apologize for all the shit you’ve put me through, Bucky. If I hear those words coming out of your mouth one more time, I swear to God, I will–”

“You hate me.”

It’s almost enough to make Steve burst with laughter, _almost_ , only … Steve feels his anger dissipate the moment he realizes that he doesn’t hate him. It just goes to prove how fucked up he really is. “You’ve ruined me,” He hears himself say. He’s staring Bucky right in the eye, relieved that he’s still not afraid of him at least. “Bucky, don’t you see that? You were my everything, my great, big love since I was a little kid, and you took it all for granted. You threw it all in my face and expected me to be grateful.”

Bucky nods, his gaze falling to his lap. There’s nothing grand or intimidating about him anymore, not with the way he’s posed, sitting on the chair, shoulders hanging forward, hands lying awkwardly, folded in his lap. Not even the shadows around him make Steve fear him.

“I was never any good at loving you,” He says.

“No, you really weren’t,” Steve replies without missing a beat. He drops his head back onto his pillow for a moment, sighing and staring up at the dark ceiling. “I was your possession,” He adds thoughtfully, like he’s only realizing it now, or maybe it’s finally getting through to him, “I was something you owned, and something you were afraid to lose.”

There is a long silence and eventually, Steve lifts his head back up. For a split second, he expects Bucky to be gone, but the guy is still seated on the other side of the room. He hasn’t moved an inch.

“And what if I want to make amends?” Bucky asks with a small voice. His gaze rises to meet Steve’s, and Steve is surprised to find tears in those dark eyes. He tries to remember a time where he’s seen Bucky cry before, but his memory comes up empty. “Truly, Steve,” He continues, “I never wanted to hurt you like this.”

Steve wants to tell him that his physical pain is nothing to the abuse he was put through, but maybe that’s a bad idea. He doesn’t want to scare Bucky off, not now, not yet, not when he has a chance for some answers, because this is the first time they’re having a conversation where Bucky isn’t about to burst with rage and violence. “Then why did you bring the knife?” He asks carefully.

Bucky shrugs, then says, “I was desperate.”

That answer doesn’t really help. Steve inhales sharply, holds the air inside his lung for three seconds, and then exhales slowly. He needs to stay in control of the situation. “If you really wanted to make amends,” He says, “If you really are sorry, then you’ll turn yourself in and you’ll seek help.”

It’s a gamble, he knows it, but at least Bucky isn’t instantly making a run for it – either for the door or for him. No, he stays sitting down, his eyes on Steve, obvious turmoil twisting inside of him. Steve holds his breath as he watches Bucky weigh his words, but when the silence drags on, Steve feels the need to break it. It’s suffocating him, or maybe he’s still holding his breath. He can’t be sure.

“Let me call the police,” He tries, “We can wait together.”

“And then you’re finally rid of me, right?” Bucky asks, sounding hurt. Steve doesn’t know whether that offends him or makes him feel guilty. Or maybe this is Bucky manipulating him again. He honestly can’t tell. “If I turn myself in, you can finally be with Tony without any interference from me.”

“This has nothing to do with Tony,” Steve says. It’s a lie. Of course it’s a lie! But the truth is that he does want Bucky to seek help, for his own good. “Bucky, after everything that has happened, I still want to help you. Do you believe me?”

Bucky nods, to Steve’s surprise. “I do,” He says, “Because you’ve always been a good guy. Definitely too good for me.”

Steve doesn’t reply to that. Honestly, what could he possibly say? Instead, he slowly reaches over for the phone that’s on the nightstand beside his bed. He contemplates calling a nurse, but he thinks that will have Bucky running the other way and then they’ll be back at square one. No, it’s best to keep this between the two of them for as long as possible.

“I’m going to call the police now,” He says, picking up the handset and dialing 911, which feels weird since he’s already in the hospital. It takes only a minute to explain the situation, and all the while, he keeps his eyes on Bucky, just waiting for the man to change his mind, but Bucky doesn’t move.

When he puts the phone back down, he offers Bucky a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing the right thing,” He says, “I promise you.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky replies. It’s the truth, Steve can tell by the way Bucky keeps rubbing his hands together, like they’re itching to do something. “Since you left, I haven’t had a clue about what I’ve been doing. I just knew I wanted you back, that’s all, because I love you so goddamn much.”

Steve swallows heavily. “I know,” He settles on. He realizes that he doesn’t love Bucky anymore. He’s always felt tied to him, like they were meant to be together, but somewhere along the way, everything went horribly wrong, but he doesn’t think that anymore. He finally feels like he can leave Bucky in his past.

A few minutes pass in silence before footsteps sound outside. Steve instinctively sits up more, ignoring the dull ache to his side. He still expects Bucky to do something foolish now, but he simply stands when two police officers step into the room, followed by a nurse who’s obviously clueless about what’s going on. The two policemen arrest Bucky, cuffing his hands together behind his back, and Steve is now holding his breath again, just waiting and waiting, but Bucky doesn’t fight the cops.

“Do you forgive me now?” Bucky asks when he’s about to be lead from the room.

Steve ignores the pounding of his heart and the tremor to his hands. It’s strange to see Bucky arrested and it’s even stranger to think that maybe, just maybe, the madness will end now. “I don’t think I can ever forgive you,” He says, because the last thing he wants is to give Bucky false hope.

Bucky looks down, but he doesn’t say anything. He just gives a little nod.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” Steve says, and then he’s watching the cops take the man away.

He sinks down and closes his eyes, trying to comprehend everything that just happened, but he’s too tired to think much about it. He’s vaguely aware that the nurse is still with him, checking his stab wound before covering him with an extra blanket.

He thanks her before she leaves again, smiling faintly, and then he falls asleep.

-x-x-x-

The elevator comes to a halt and a moment later, the doors slip open. Steve walks out first, followed by Tony, who’s carrying his suitcase since, as he put it, that’s what a gentleman does. Steve didn’t even bother to protest, knowing it was futile anyway.

It feels good to be back in the familiar surroundings that is Tony’s penthouse. He’s … home, which is a strange thought, but a satisfying one. He never did get the chance to get used to it, what with Bucky trying to ruin him again, though for the final time.

“Take a seat,” Tony says as they exit the elevator. He sets down the suitcase before he slips his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him close. He’s smiling, his chocolate brown eyes lighting up.

Steve smiles, too, and he cocks his head sideways a little, enjoying the way Tony’s wrapping him up in his arms. They haven’t been able to be physically close while he was in the hospital and he has to admit that he missed Tony’s soft touches. He missed being in his arms and feeling safe.

“Welcome home, Steve,” Tony says softly, happily.

Steve leans forward and presses his lips against Tony’s, kissing him. Tony sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites down gently, making Steve moan. His hands move up to grasp at Tony’s upper arms, needing to steady himself, because he’s feeling a bit light in the head, and when the kiss breaks, Steve feels completely out of breath.

“Let’s order take-out,” He offers, still wrapped in Tony’s arms, “I’m starving.”

-x-x-x-

The end.

-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the end. I can't believe I posted the final chapter! I hope enjoyed the ride, together with me, because I had such fun writing this. I want to thank everyone who has read this story, and I want to say special thanks to all those that left a review. Last, but not least; GreenLoki, thank you for beta'ing this story, for being there to talk to when I needed to, for inspiring me, and for making me do my best. Thanks!
> 
> Be sure to check out my next story! :)
> 
> Greetings,  
> Cass


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